


Ο ξένος

by SeaBeast



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kratos removes his chains, Language Barrier, Sad man in the woods, Slow Burn, Wounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaBeast/pseuds/SeaBeast
Summary: His gods were dead, and he was far from the land where he'd been bound to them. So far, in fact, that everything seemed different, darker, colder, wilder, as though he were nearing the edges of the world.
Relationships: Faye & Kratos (God of War), Faye/Kratos (God of War)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 112





	1. "Aren't you freezing?"

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at some Kratos & Faye backstory. This isn't totally solid as a headcanon, just something I'm playing around with! It's my first fanwork, hope you enjoy! Love that sad man~  
> Ο ξένος = O xenos, The stranger/foreigner

Kratos's breath escaped him as a stream of billowing white in the frigid air. The snow-blanketed clearing was eerily quiet. Only his laboured breathing, the gentle clinking of chains, and the occasional pained growl broke the silence as he worked. Steam rose from his skin, his body quivering, both from the biting cold and the bolts of searing pain that shot through him. He had to keep going. He'd waited long enough. Traveled far enough. He was exhausted, broken; at his wit's end.

He clenched his teeth and wrenched again at the chains, pulling free another short length of burning metal links from his flesh. Steam billowed from his arms, so much that he might as well have been on fire - he felt like he was, or as much as he could be without the physically burning rage that consumed him in his lowest moments. He paused, letting out a few growling breaths as the intense spike of pain faded back into the familiar background throb caused by the cursed chains fused to his forearms. This was taking too long. His gods were dead, and he was far from the land where he'd been bound to them. So far, in fact, that everything seemed different, darker, colder, wilder, as though he were nearing the edges of the world. It was where he deserved to be, he thought bitterly, as he gripped the hot metal links tightly in his fist again. The chains had loosened after the fall of the gods, and yet he'd used the blades again and again, as though they were all he knew. It certainly felt that way. A sword or a spear didn't feel the same as it once did. He couldn't wield it with as much mastery. As much savagery. So he'd kept the blades. They'd nourished a terrible part of him, the monster that lurked under his skin. And slowly, they'd begun to fuse back into his flesh, clinging to him dependently, as he depended on them.

No more.

He yanked the last length of chain from his trembling arm, letting out a reverberating roar of pain as the bloodied links fell into the snow at his feet. One arm free. He stared at his skin, marred and bloodied, but bare for the first time in years. The red, bleeding welts and pale pink scar tissue stood in stark contrast to his ashen skin. He needed to bind it. Bind it to staunch the bleeding and protect his wounds, but also to ease the temptation to pick up the chain and wind it around his forearm again. He could feel the desire rising already. What would he do without his blades? How could he defend himself? With the chains, wielding them was effortless. He felt powerful. Unstoppable. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his fists into his eyes. He still had one chain attached. He hadn't undone it all. He could just pick up the discarded one lying coiled there beneath him, steaming in the snow, and wrap it back around...

No. He stood up straight, taking his hands from his face, and took a few deliberate steps backwards. The sight of his bare forearm, ruined and bloodied as it was, was the closest thing to hope he'd felt in a long time. Despite his scars, it meant he could exist without the chains. He couldn't stop now. With a grunt of resignation, Kratos sank to his knees in the freezing snow, his back to the coil of freshly freed chains. The numbing cold of the snow anchored him. He welcomed the contrasting sensation, unpleasant as it was. He set his jaw, gripped the second chain and pulled, before he could give himself another reason not to. The pain was explosive, cutting through him like a blade. He snarled through his clenched teeth, but didn't allow himself a moment's pause. Not this time. There could be no room for doubt. Groaning, he readjusted his grip, his vision darkened from the pain. The chains heated, his skin producing even more steam as he pulled again and again, unwinding the embedded metal, tearing it from his arm. He finished with a final savage tug, finally letting his mouth fall open in a great roaring bellow, coarse and unrestrained as the pain blinded him. He flung the wretched metal links across the clearing. They struck a tree and fell, pathetic and limp as a dead snake, sinking deep into the loose snow. He fell onto all fours, only just catching himself before his face met the cold white powder beneath him. Slowly, his strength dissolving, his ruined arms unable to hold him, he slumped onto his side. The freezing ground was welcoming, a contrast to the burning hot pain in his arms, and he felt the snow under them begin to melt. He closed his eyes, only for a moment, he told himself. He was free now. Though the blades on his back still whispered to him, he was unshackled at last. 

  
His consciousness drifted. A figure watched him from the treeline. 

~~~

  
He twitched violently as he woke. He felt like he'd only been out for a moment, but as he raised his head, snow sloughed away from him. It was snowing again, and he found himself coated. Red-tinged ice clung to his arms where the residual heat from the chains had melted and then refrozen the snow around them. He grunted in annoyance before flexing his arms, breaking the ice and brushing off the rest of it. He felt weak, freezing, dizzy, but he sat himself up. He needed to bind his arms. The wounds still wept and burned, and the intensity of his desire to find the chains and press them back against his skin was troubling. He couldn't give himself that choice. He reached into the pack at his waist, pulling free a length of cloth bandage. It was old and used, but clean enough. His hands numb with cold, he slowly and carefully bound his forearms, the material soaking through with blood immediately. He grunted. Better than nothing. In a moment of weakness it might not stop him reattaching the chains, but it would be enough to make him think twice. It would have to do.

He pulled himself up with a groan, his arms protesting, sending new shocks of pain through him. He tried to steel himself, stop the trembling, but his muscles betrayed him. He stumbled towards where he'd discarded the chains. They were easy to find - the snow around them was stained red, and they hadn't been covered; falling snowflakes disappeared into tiny puffs of steam as soon as they touched the cursed metal. Kratos let out a small, uncertain sigh. He couldn't leave them here. He couldn't be free of the blades, he knew that - they'd always find their way back to him, and the chains were one and the same. Be that as it may, he couldn't afford to have someone else find them, or worse - recognise them. He'd traveled far, and although it was unlikely anyone here would know him, he couldn't take the risk. He found himself at a loss, suddenly. He couldn't very well carry them in his bare hands. He'd be winding them back around his arms before he knew it. But he had no bag, only the small pouch at his belt. He sighed again, deep, frustrated, resigned. He took the blades from his back and placed them carefully before him. He pulled his crimson and gold cloak from around his shoulders, the last thing shielding him from the biting cold of this forest, and laid it out in the snow. He worked fast, gathering the chains carefully, handling them as though they were lethargic serpents who might turn and bite him at any moment. He laid them and the blades in turn on the fabric, giving them one last wistful look before folding the cloth over and across, bundling them up in multiple layers like a babe. He pulled some rough string he'd fashioned from tree fibres from his pouch, and bound it around the bundle, making sure it wouldn't fall open and betray its contents. Satisfied, he stood, tucking the bundle under his arm. It was warm. The blades and the chains were reaching to him, offering him that familiar, comforting heat in this frigid place. But he wouldn't heed it.

He turned, casting an eye back over the clearing, when he froze in alarm. The spot he'd been lying was distinct, the snow disturbed. But beside it was more disruption. Footprints. And not his own. He stalked closer, wary. He hadn't come across any other human being since he'd left the flat grasslands further south. This freezing woodland had seemed wild and devoid of human influence, just as he'd wanted. He peered down at the footprints, trying to ignore the searing, undulating pain in his arms as it tried to resolve itself into something consistent. He growled unconsciously at the distracting sensation, and forced himself into a crouch to inspect the prints. The falling snow was beginning to fill them in, but there they were, undoubtedly; human footprints. Smaller than his, and closely spaced as though whoever it was had been taking quiet, careful steps. He wondered how long he'd been unconscious. It had only felt like moments, but judging from the snowfall, it'd been much longer. Who had been here? Had someone investigated him? Nothing of his was missing; he had nothing of value. No food, no resources, only the blades. If he'd been touched he was certain he would have awoken. He raised his gaze to the trees. Everything was still. The prints disappeared from the clearing. His heart burned with - what? Anger? Foreboding? Desire? He hadn't talked to another being for months. He hadn't seen another human face for almost as long. Friend or foe, he felt some strange longing to find them. He'd kill them if he must, but if they were friendly -

No. He came here to be alone. To escape the world of gods and men. He stood rigid, unable to make a decision. His arms burned at him. He readjusted his grip on the bundled blades, and stared intently through the trees. Whoever it was had presumably seen his wounds, his blades, his tattoo, his unusual colouring. And although the people of this land were much fairer of skin than his own people of Greece, he was still strikingly pale in comparison. He'd always stand out. And whoever it was had seen him, and retreated. If they'd been a messenger - a spy - then he needed to find them. Yes. It made sense. He'd find them, and he'd kill them, with or without his blades.

As he moved out of the clearing and into the trees, tracking the quickly fading prints, he began to notice curious gold markings here and there - some on a tree trunk here, others on a rock there. They were subtle, thin, concentric lines, some shaped almost like arrows. The first he'd noticed had footprints leading right up to them. Whoever he was following had made these marks, and meant for him to see them. Did they mean to lead him into a trap? He knew he should just walk away. It was stupid to entertain the fact it could be anything but a lure, and yet, he didn't stop walking. The footprints had faded completely now, but the gold marks guided him. 

~~~

  
He was cold, so cold. His bare skin stung with it. He'd never felt cold like this in his life. He was a god, and he knew he wouldn't succumb to it, but he was a god from a land of hot sun and warm, glittering emerald seas. He was uncomfortable and miserable, and his arms still burned like they were on fire. The thin boots he'd fashioned for himself were soaked through, and his whole body buzzed with exhaustion and misery. It was all he deserved, he thought again, stubbornly. This discomfort was a small price to pay for his past deeds. The gold marks still led him through the forest, though he was beginning to lose patience. The snow was falling more and more thickly, his dragging feet pulling through it, his breath escaping him in white wisps among the dancing snowflakes. He held the bundle of his blades close to his chest, relishing in the little heat they gave him, though it felt as though they, too, were slowly giving up, their warmth fading.

Just as the thought crossed his mind to find shelter, his nostrils flared at the smell of woodsmoke. He brought his unfocused gaze up, peering through the trees for any sign of life. He continued, a little more vigour to his trudging steps. It wasn't long before he came upon an unnatural clearing. Several trees had been felled here, creating an open space in the midst of the thick woods. A small stream burbled nearby, semi-frozen and lazy. A sharp incline of rock sheltered one side of the clearing, and, to Kratos's immense relief, backing against the rock wall was a small shack, smoke rising from a hole in the roof. An angry little voice in his head told him to rush in, murder whoever dwelt there, and claim it for his own. He readjusted his grip on the bundled blades. It was tempting. This was a good spot, and all the work had been done for him. But something told him no. His long neglected conscience? His mortal side? He had to be better than the life he left behind. Had he not just been telling himself he deserved his misery?

He trudged forward, and stopped as he noticed a figure, a woman, leaning against the shack. She held an axe. Kratos knew just by looking that it was no common wood-cutting axe. Its long, weighted handle was made with beautiful red wood, and the large, dark blade was curved and cruel. The woman held it comfortably, relaxed and poised all at once. Kratos squinted through the snow, confused. The footprints could certainly have belonged to this woman, but why had she led him here? If she wanted to strike him down, she could have done so while he was unconscious. He stood silently, unsure how to proceed. She'd noticed his presence. Piercing blue eyes were trained on him intently, and she stepped towards him. She held the axe at her side, non-theatening, but still prepared. She was dressed in furs and practical hides and leathers, bundled from the cold but clearly capable of full movement. Some long braided hair snaked out from under her hood, which shaded much of her face.

  
"Halló ókunnugur. Svo þú ert ekki dáinn. Ég er hrifin." She spoke in the odd lilting language of this land. Kratos hadn't had any opportunity to learn it. He'd seen very few people and spoken to nobody. He didn't respond.

She spoke again, stepping closer. "Ertu ekki að frjósa?"

Kratos held her gaze. She stopped a little way away from where he stood, and cocked her head at him curiously. She rubbed her arms theatrically and repeated herself, looking at him questioningly. The rise in her voice told him she was asking him something. Gears ground into place in Kratos's head as he realised she was miming the action for being cold. She was asking him if he was cold.

His mind raced as he tried to summon words, any words from this land. All he knew from only one instance of observation was that their "no" sounded quite similar to his "yes", which was incredibly frustrating. Should he even bother answering? Of course he was cold. It was snowing and his chest was bare.

After an uncomfortably long pause, he grunted, hoping it was enough of an affirmative. The woman nodded and turned towards the shack behind her, motioning for him to follow. Kratos trudged after her, and despite himself, he could feel warm relief blossoming in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faye is speaking Icelandic, which is the closest thing to Proto/Old Norse I could easily translate on Google! Kratos will be speaking modern Greek in the next chapter. (Expect it very soon!) Obviously they'd both be speaking the ancient versions of the languages but it's just a bit of fun and let's face it, written in English anyway (it also means I can practice my Greek, haha)!  
> When Kratos notes that the Norse "no" sounds like his "yes", side by side without the English it'd be Nei (Norse) vs Ναί/Nai (Greek). Languages are wild!  
> If you speak Icelandic or Greek and I've made a dumb mistake, feel free to let me know! :>


	2. "Why are you helping me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye finds an injured, mysterious stranger in the woods and takes him in, against her better judgement.

Faye wondered if she was making a mistake, bringing this goliath of a stranger into her home.

She'd heard him before she'd seen him. His inhuman roars had sent birds up from the trees and rattled the branches of the woods around her. By the time she'd reached the sound, he'd been crumpled in a sad heap in the middle of a small snowy clearing, out cold with terrible wounds on both of his forearms, leaking blood onto the surrounding snow. She'd walked over to him, confused, reaching out and holding a cautious hand in front of his face to see if he was still breathing. His warm, albeit shallow breaths had told her yes. The curious wounds on his arms concerned her - they were nasty - bleeding, open wounds lay side by side with gnarled pink scar tissue, layers upon layers of old trauma and pain, winding around his arm in repeating patterns, like the links of a chain. And then there were the blades, hung on his back. Cruel, unusual short-swords, like nothing she'd ever seen before. Who was this man?

His skin was unnaturally pale, almost as pale as the snow he lay in, save for the vivid red stripe - body paint? A tattoo? - that curled around his left arm and torso, up his back, over his bare head and across his left eye. He was enormous, heavily muscled, and wore only a thin red and gold cloak over scant armour pieces - an armoured belt and single-shouldered pauldron, exposing a bare torso. His feet and lower legs were wound only with strips of fabric that the snow clung to in wet clumps. He must be freezing. Why wasn't he dead?

She stood back from him, curiosity and dread chasing each other in her stomach. It'd been a long time since she'd found somebody within her patch of the woods, and she was lonely. But something wasn't right with this stranger. How had he gotten so far into the forest with so little clothing? He clearly wasn't from anywhere near here; despite his pale colouring, his features were unfamiliar. Not only that, there was something about him that was... inhuman. She'd heard it in his screams, and she could sense it now, some strange, inexplicable aura he exuded. It unnerved her.

She'd stepped away, cautious not to wake the marked stranger, but lingered at the edge of the clearing. If he froze to death or succumbed to his wounds, then it wouldn't be her problem... but... There was something inside her telling her that he was important. It was a distant, flitting thing, but she couldn't deny its presence. She bit her lip, thinking. If this hunch was her foresight returning and he was to be important, then he'd be fine. Fate isn't so easily changed, and she wasn't about to risk startling him if he happened to be violent. She'd rather be careful and prepared.

Decisively, she walked to the closest tree and spoke the words needed to place the marker magic. If he needed help she'd give it to him, but he'd have to ask for it.

~~~

Back at home, after quickly relighting her fire, unsure how much time she had, she'd gone to wait outside her small shack, axe at the ready. She'd doubted that the stranger would be well enough to make his way to her clearing, but some part of her knew that he'd come.

And that he did, much sooner than she'd expected.

He'd arrived shortly after she'd started her watch, hunched over, snow beginning to gather on his bare shoulders. Oddly, he'd removed his cloak and now held it bundled before him, clutching it to his chest. The blades were gone from his back. Good, she thought. The less likely he was to attack, the more she could learn about him. The man stopped at the treeline, his gaze sweeping over the clearing. Although his posture was stooped, his shoulders sagging with fatigue, she saw something dangerous flash in his eyes as he looked over her modest dwelling. She tensed, the comforting weight of the Leviathan axe grounding her. His eyes were wild, half hidden under heavy brows.

He closed them, then, just for a moment, his shoulders sagging further, and took a few more steps towards Faye. Their eyes finally met. His gaze was softer now, more human. His brows twitched. There was only the minutest change in his features, barely perceptible, but now that frightening fire had left his eyes, he looked to Faye like a man utterly and desperately lost.

"Hello stranger," she said, lowering her axe slightly. "You're not dead. I'm impressed."

He stayed silent.

She took a step towards him, out from under the eaves of her shack. "Aren't you freezing?" She said, as kindly as she could.

He stared at her blankly. He didn't seem to understand.

She rubbed her arms, pretending to shiver. "Brr. Aren't you cold?"

No reply. His brows had knitted. He stood awkwardly, frowning at her. Had his brain frozen too? Just as she was about to open her mouth to invite him inside nonetheless, he gave out a deep murmuring grunt.

She nodded. "Come on then." She motioned for him to follow her inside. 

The large man had to duck his head under the doorframe as he stepped inside Faye's small cabin. He immediately moved towards the hearth in the middle of the room, gravitating towards the heat of the fire. His broad form seemed to fill the space. His gaze darted up at her as she waved her hand at him, indicating that he should sit. She pulled off her fur overcloak, shaking out her braided hair and brushing away the snowflakes that'd settled upon it.

Reluctantly, the large man stooped down, noticeably wincing as he put weight on one of his arms for a moment, before settling, cross-legged in front of the fire. He held the curious red cloak-bundle across his knees protectively. She noticed then that he'd wrapped his forearms with strips of cloth. They were soaked through with blood in places - she winced internally as she imagined the pain they must be causing him. He gazed at her across the smouldering fire. His eyes were a curious dark gold colour, and shone with something unnerving. The red stripe that ran over his left eye was mirrored by an old, faded scar over his right. What terrible history lay behind his scars? His marked and coloured skin? His horrific wounds? It'd been a long time since she'd been able to hear any new stories, and she was eager to learn about this intriguing man who practically stank of history and drama. The people of the nearby village had already heard her entire catalogue of tales, but perhaps she'd have some new ones to tell when next she saw them.

"Γιατί με βοηθάς;" the stranger rumbled, without warning.

Ah. Perhaps she wouldn't be hearing any stories. At least not until they could understand one another.

"I don't know your tongue, stranger," she said. "And I suppose you don't understand me either?"

His only reply was an uncertain scowl.

"No. I thought not."

She skirted the hearth, and knelt down beside him. He eyed her suspiciously, but did not move.

"Your arms," she said, deliberately running her hands over her own forearms, then pointing to his. "They're badly hurt."

The man's eyes watched her hands before his gaze snapped back up to hers. He exhaled through his nose, his brows lowering further.

"Let me help you -" she reached forward with both hands to touch his wrist and his elbow, intending to maneuver and inspect the arm - but he jerked away from her touch.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "Look, I just want to clean them -" she reached for a wooden bowl full of water she'd prepared before the man arrived, warmed by the hearth. She mimed dipping her fingers in and washing her forearms. The man watched. He shifted uncomfortably, something metallic clinking from within the bundle on his lap. The blades, she realised. Was he hiding them from her?

"Όχι," he said, in that incredibly deep timbre. He paused for a moment, as though reconsidering. He grunted, thoughtfully. "N-?"

"No?" She suggested.

He grunted. "No."

She shrugged. She couldn't help him if he refused her. If he wanted to die from dirty wounds, then so be it. Instead, she reached for the bowl of water, deliberately brought it to her lips and took a sip. She offered it to him then.

"Water. Drink."

He took the bowl from her gingerly, his large, rough fingers clumsily brushing hers. He looked up at her, his eyes shining uncertainly. She smiled at him as kindly as she could, despite her trepidation at his intimidating appearance. He did seem dangerous, but truthfully, she felt pity blooming inside her. He really did look miserable. If he refused treatment for his wounds, at least he could rest and thaw out in front of her fire. She wondered how he'd survived out there, skin bared to the elements, barely anything to his name. How long had he been out there? He couldn't be mortal to have survived dressed like that. But then what was he? He was new here, that was evident - he didn't seem to know even a single word of her language. A strange creature from another land. Just like her, she thought, wistfully.

He drank deeply from the bowl, before wiping away the droplets that clung to the dark stubble on his chin. He placed the bowl back down on the hearth, and dipped his head for a moment, as though thinking.

"Water-" he murmured, quietly, looking back up at her questioningly.

Faye reached for the bowl. "Yes! Water." She made a show of putting her lips to it. "Drink."

"Aχ ναι, πίνω. Drink." He wanted to learn. She smiled, her heart fluttering. The stranger watched as she stood up, crossed to the door of the shack and reached outside to fill the bowl with snow. As she sat down beside him, placing it back down by the hearth for the snow to melt, she pointed.

"Snow. With fire -" she motioned to the hearth, "- makes water."

He echoed the words in his impossibly deep voice. She had to stifle a laugh - the utter seriousness of his tone and expression as he repeated them back to her was charming. He continued to stare at her, obviously unsure what she was finding so funny.

"You're odd, stranger," she said to him, not unkindly. He didn't respond, obviously sensing the comment was not an attempt to teach him vocabulary. "You were thirsty. I bet you're hungry too. You'd better not make me regret offering you hospitality."

He scowled at her, and she smirked, crossing to the back of the cabin to her pantry, where two large, plucked geese hung. She unhooked one and settled down to begin butchering at her crude prep table; a single plank propped a little above the floor. She let her eyes drift up now and again to take in the form of the stranger, who, after realising what she was doing, had relaxed slightly. He'd set aside his odd cloth bundle, and was now unwinding the wet fabric around his lower legs and feet, laying it out to dry by the hearth. She noticed with curious surprise that underneath the makeshift coverings was a pair of sandals. It seemed he hadn't planned for snow.

Faye absentmindedly filleted the bird, still keeping an eye on the stranger. She kept her axe close at hand, still wary of any change in him. The thought of those blades still left her uneasy, despite his seemingly well-intended attempts at her language. 

She paused, nearly finished with the carcass, when she noticed the man's posture had slumped. His head was dipped, his hands relaxed in his lap. He was dozing.

That curious pity bloomed in her again, this time alongside a warm feeling of accomplishment. She'd helped him, maybe even saved him, made him comfortable, and that felt good. It'd been a long time since she'd helped anyone. Her existence in Midgard had to be solitary. A pang of sadness hit her then, and she remembered the feeling of home, of family, of feeling safe enough in the company of her loved ones to fall asleep in front of the fire. She bit her lip and focused back on preparing the meat. Loneliness was all that gripped her heart these days, and she cursed herself for so easily letting it soften her at the sight of another person. This man may yet still be a danger to her, and she had to harden her heart to it. It'd just been so long since she'd shared her space with anybody else.

~~~

"Hey, stranger," she said, gently touching his shoulder. It radiated heat already. It hadn't taken him long to thaw out. He gave out a low groan as his awareness came back to him.

He raised his head, looking at her blearily, his eyes full of confusion.

"Time to eat," she said, pointing to the large flat rock on her hearth, where she'd prepared some flatbread. Goose meat and root vegetables sizzled in a pan on some embers scraped from the fire pit beside it. His eyes lit up at the sight, though his brows were still knitted in confusion.

"Αποκοιμήθηκα...;" he murmured, as though asking her something. "Και... δεν κάνατε...;"

She smiled at him apologetically. "Do you want food?"

A blank stare.

She pointed. "Food. Yes? No?"

"N-" he began, before correcting himself. "Yes."

She nodded, tipping some meat and vegetables onto a flatbread before folding it over and handing it to him. He bit into it without hesitation.

They ate together quietly. While he'd dozed, that comforting, companionable feeling she'd experienced had only intensified. It didn't make sense - the stranger was huge, intimidating, unfriendly, and armed. And yet as he'd sat, too exhausted to even make the decision to lie down, breathing deeply and softly in his sleep, she'd felt safe.

But now he was awake, the atmosphere felt fraught again. She wanted desperately to talk to him, ask him things, but she knew he wouldn't understand. She caught him glancing at her, and stared back, unashamedly. His brows lowered and his gaze quickly flicked away again.

As they finished their meal, Faye turned her body to face him. He watched her.

She put a hand to her breast. "Faye," she said, looking him in the eye.

"Faye," he repeated in a soft growl. Something in his tone sounded almost thankful.

"And you?" She motioned to him. He didn't reply.

She sighed. Of course.

~~~

After their meal, she had expected him to lie down and sleep, but he'd stayed sitting upright, watching her like a hawk. Faye tried to go about her usual evening routine, but his constant, suspicious gaze was distracting. It irked her. Had she not proven herself trustworthy? Twice she'd had the opportunity to attack him while his guard had been down, and she hadn't. What was his problem?

It was as she restocked the wood pile by the hearth that she noticed his eyes, trained on her but hazed with tiredness, drooping and weary. Why did he deny himself rest? Was he waiting for her to settle for the night?

She stalked over to him and stood, hands on hips, and pointed to the furs that covered the floor where he sat. "Rest. "

He didn't move.

" _Rest,_ " she said to him again firmly, this time deliberately miming the action of closing her eyes and resting her face on her hand. "Or are you worried I'm going to kill you in your sleep?"

He stared.

"If you keep looking at me like that then I'm going to worry about you killing _me_ in my sleep."

She paused, surprising herself. Saying it out loud suddenly solidified the fear. She'd helped him and given him shelter, but she didn't know him, or what he was capable of. His eyes shone with something frightening, and he'd done nothing so far to prove that he wouldn't harm her. She'd heard his disturbingly primal roars in the woods, seen his wounds, seen those blades. Was he just waiting for his chance to catch her off guard?

But... still there was something inside her, something so deep that it felt like it drew from the very roots of the world tree itself, something that told her that everything was going to be all right. It told her that she was meant to find this man. She couldn't quite grasp it, or understand exactly what it was telling her more than that this felt _right_ , but it was there, nonetheless. It was definitely foresight. _Fate_. She sighed.

Foresight or not, she was in Midgard to protect herself and what was left of the legacy of her people. She wasn't about to lie down in front of the first dangerous traveler she came across, just because fate told her to.

"Up," she said, feeling hassled by her own thoughts and the man's frustrating stubbornness. She moved over to where the stranger sat, and tugged at his arm, careful to avoid the wrappings below his elbow. " _Up._ "

Understanding, he pulled himself to his feet. Faye tried not to focus on the thickness and power of the muscles under her hand - if he chose to, he could easily overpower and kill her, even without those blades. She knew she could hold her own, but at this proximity, if he got the jump on her -

Ignoring the little spark of fear these thoughts ignited in her gut, she laid another hand on his broad back, and guided him towards her bunk. To her surprise, he allowed her to maneuver him, moving slowly in the direction she pushed.

After only a few steps they reached her bed, a simple wooden bunk lined with furs. He turned, looking down at her questioningly.

She pointed. "Lie down. Rest."

He frowned. "Πού θα κοιμηθείς;"

"Rest." She picked up a folded blanket from the end of the bed, and thrust it against his chest. He took it and sat down on the bed slowly, obviously confused. Faye crossed back to the fire and threw a log onto it, a little too hard. Some cinders flew off, a couple of them landing on the crimson and gold bundle the stranger had left on the floor. Without thinking, she reached down and quickly brushed them off before the fabric could singe. There was a noise behind her - she whipped around to see the stranger back on his feet, his eyes suddenly shining with that same frightening savagery she'd seen for a split second earlier on, out in the snow. It startled her, but more so, it stoked her irritation. What was his problem? Didn't he understand she was trying to help?

"Oh, settle down," she said, her voice hard. Feeling incredulous, she turned towards him, and in a smooth movement, kicked her foot back, causing the bundle to slide backwards across the floor away from the hearth. She saw him tense, and to her horror, lurch forward.

Instinctively, she threw out her hand and called her axe to it. It didn't have far to fly from its place propped by the door, but it had the desired effect. Once safely in her grasp she hefted it threateningly, and the stranger froze where he was, his eyes wide in surprise.

"I know you don't understand me," she hissed, angrily, "but hopefully you can understand my _tone_. If you're going to act this way, I'm casting you back out into the woods. Is that what you want?"

A bestial growl escaped him. The stranger grimaced angrily, his lip raised into a snarl, eyes alight with fury.

Faye continued. "I know about your blades, and they'll stay on the floor, over there. You may be dangerous, but so am I. And you're going to listen to me."

He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked. His chest rose and fell with his quick, stifled breaths, his mouth closing into a tight line - he was on the edge. Faye's grip tightened on her axe. Despite her confident stance, her heart seized with fear. She held her ground, but she had no idea what this man was capable of. 

They both stood rigid with tension for a few moments, until whatever it was seemed to pass over the stranger. It drained out of him; his shoulders slumped, his arms fell limply to his sides and his gaze lowered. He gave out a deep, resigned sigh and sat down heavily on her bed, which creaked alarmingly. When he looked up at her again, the change in his gaze made Faye lower her axe in surprise. His eyes shone with such sadness, such terrible pain and regret, it seemed unthinkable that they had been alight with incandescent rage only seconds before. What did this mean?

He dipped his head and tilted his hands towards her in reluctant surrender, grimacing for a moment, presumably as the movement of his wrists irritated his wounds.

"Εντάξει," he said, his voice soft and low. Faye nodded. The man sighed again, seemingly to himself, and rubbed his face wearily.

Faye sank to the floor, settling down by the fire with her legs crossed. She deliberately placed her axe close beside her, before reaching for the basket that held her various weaving projects. She would stay awake tonight. It was clear she couldn't completely trust him. And if she was going to stay up, she may as well get something done.

Her eyes flicked up at movement by her bed. To her surprise, the stranger was slowly removing his armour pieces. He dropped them onto the floor beside the bunk, and settled down into the furs of her bed, naked but for the remains of a tunic that hung from his waist. Surreptitiously eyeing him, Faye noticed with interest a thick line of disrupted tissue that crossed his abdomen - and one to match on his back, she saw as he turned. If those were scars, she thought, then they were from a wound that no mortal could survive. 

She tilted her head and averted her gaze from the enormous, mostly naked man in her bed. If he hadn't just made such a show of aggression, she might've been more interested in the sight. It'd been a long time since she'd seen a man's bare body, but as it was, she knew she couldn't drop her guard.

Why was she even letting him stay, she wondered? How could he be worth this kind of effort, if he was so easy to rile? She could throw him out into the night right now; this was her home. Why was she helping him? The fire crackled and spit at her, as if in answer. _Fate._

She sighed, exasperated. She'd let him stay the night, and as soon as dawn broke, she'd banish him, foresight be damned. Perhaps fate only needed her to shelter him for one night. Then she'd have done her part.

The stranger lay on his side, nestled in the furs of her bed, the flickering shadows cast by the fire dancing over his features. His large, pale form was limp, his breaths deep and slow. Despite herself, she was still curious about him. That same safe, warm feeling crept back into her, then. It reassured her again that she was doing the right thing.

Her mind simmered. Right or not, it was inconvenient. She rubbed her eyes, trying to summon some equilibrium, before pulling a half-woven cloth bag from the weaving basket. She found the loose ends in the dim firelight, and began to work. She was tired, and if she was going to get through the long hours until dawn, she needed to stay busy.

"Faye," came the stranger's voice then, low and quiet. She looked up, surprised. "Δεν θα κοιμηθείς;" From where he lay on her bunk, he made the same motion she had made to him earlier, closing his eyes for a moment as if to feign sleep. Then he pointed to her.

"No," she said, understanding immediately. "No rest for me. You haven't proved yourself trustworthy."

He seemed to understand, and did not question it. He stared into the fire for a moment, his gaze softening, until his eyes drifted closed. Faye scoffed quietly to herself. She'd drive herself mad trying to make sense of what had just happened; why she was sheltering the stranger, what his story was, why he'd ignited, then given up so quickly, what danger she could be in while housing him. Instead, she focused on her work while the stranger slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note about the Greek: the semi-colon (;) is the equivalent of a question mark (?).  
> EDIT: I went ahead and added the translations below:
> 
> Γιατί με βοηθάς;/Gyiati me voithas = Why are you helping me?  
> Όχι/ochi = no  
> Aχ ναι, πίνω/Ah, nai, pino = Ah yes, (I) drink  
> Αποκοιμήθηκα...;/Apokimithika = I fell asleep...?  
> Και... δεν κάνατε...;/Kai... den kanate = And... you didnt...?  
> Πού θα κοιμηθείς;/Pou tha kimitheis = Where will you sleep?  
> Εντάξει/entaxei = okay/all right  
> Δεν θα κοιμηθείς;/Den tha kimitheis = You won't sleep? 
> 
> More soon. Currently in self-iso and this is the only thing I can focus on right now, (aside from playing God of War)! I hope everyone is being sensible, not going out, and staying well during this weird time.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	3. "Good morning."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kratos, fed and well rested for the first time in gods know how long, attempts to regain his bearings.

Kratos's awareness came back slowly. Oddly, his usual nightmares hadn't plagued him, but he did dream of the woman, Faye, attacking him with her enchanted axe. It was a welcome break from his usual visions. He lay still, momentarily forgetting where he was. He smelled woodsmoke, goose fat and... something else. It stirred something deep within him that he'd locked away long ago; warmth, comfort, love. It took him a moment to register where the scent was coming from - fur tickled his face as he shifted. Then he remembered. The pelts and blankets he was nestled in were the ones that held the body of the woman every night. Of course, he was in her bed, and it smelled of her. It was... pleasant.

He allowed himself a short moment to enjoy it before he closed the walls around his heart again. He was somewhere unfamiliar, in someone else's space, and he'd made the mistake of dropping his guard. It'd been so long since he'd slept in an actual bed, and he'd let his exhaustion and self-pity cloud his judgement.

He let out a long, frustrated breath, raising an arm to rub at his face - and hissed with surprise as his wounds screamed at him anew. They were cursed wounds, he knew that, and they wouldn't heal quickly like the rest of him - but he was still surprised by the intensity of the pain that remained. When the chains were attached, the fire and rage would numb most sensation. Now he was no longer tethered to the blades, it was just him, just his abused flesh. It was distracting.

Kratos suddenly remembered how the woman had kicked the bundled blades across the floor and had called her axe from across the room like a sorceress. He sat bolt upright.

"Góðan daginn."

She was there, sitting by the smouldering fire. He took in her posture - seated casually but upright, mending a woolen garment in her lap - before sweeping his eyes across the rest of the cabin, searching for his blades.

"Ég snerti þá ekki, ókunnugur," said the woman, pointing behind her to the sad bundle lying in the shadows. They still lay where they had come to rest last night.

He huffed, uneasily. This was the third time she'd been in his presence while he'd been unconscious. His accidental nap by the fire last night had been embarrassing enough, but this time he'd willingly gone to sleep right in front of her. Had he been that exhausted, that weak? _Yes_ , he reminded himself. He could barely remember even getting here, his body had been running on its last scraps of energy. He'd been utterly spent, lost, hopeless, ready to give up. By the time he had lain down in this soft bed, he hadn't even cared about the possibility of the woman attacking him in his sleep - he would have taken it over staying awake one moment longer.

She had threatened him, but not without good reason. He'd foolishly revealed that the bundle was valuable to him, and had almost let his anger take control. _You should have killed her for touching them_ , said that same savage part of him. _You still can. Why bother keeping her alive when she's a threat?_

 _But she isn’t a threat_ , he countered internally. She had proved that she meant him no harm three times now. She had offered him food and shelter, and he'd still been ready to tear her apart - for what? Brushing embers from his belongings? He couldn't continue like this. He would never escape his past while this vicious, mistrustful part of him held dominion. He felt like he had known what it meant to be good once, long, long ago, back when Atreus still fought beside him. But that felt like a distant glimmer, now. The gods had changed him, he knew; they’d filled him with anger, resentment and vengefulness, shown him he shouldn't trust anybody's word to the point where he couldn't even function among mortals. He had to rise above it. He couldn’t let their grasp on him continue to taint his life; he needed to break away. And he could start by not indiscriminately killing every person who was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

But it was true that Faye’s judgement of him had been sound; she had been right to raise her guard, yet _still_ she had let him stay. And now she was sitting there, talking to him companionably. He had done nothing to warrant this: she knew nothing of his regret. Nobody had treated him like she had for a very long time. He considered this. Treated him how? With respect? Decency?

As things stood, he certainly didn’t deserve it.

He looked over at her, sitting there in the shadows by the dying fire, the faint dawn light shining from the gaps in the wooden shack's roof only just illuminating her features. She gazed back at him with those amazing eyes. She was slender but wiry with strong, square shoulders and a kind face, her pale skin tattooed in places with lines of stick-like script. She was not beautiful in the way he'd known women in his past to be, but she was still striking. Strong and compassionate, both. Her eyes practically shone with caring and benevolence, but something in her expression seemed to have hardened from last night. She rose to her feet with a tired groan, breaking their gaze. To his surprise, Kratos felt guilt gnawing at his gut as he saw her weary expression. The nights here were long, and she had stayed awake because he had shown her he couldn't be trusted. He would have done the same were he in her place. He cringed as he remembered how he had tried to stay alert and keep watch of her, but had ultimately allowed her to put him to bed like a child.

He was weak. How embarrassing that this accomplished woman had found him at his lowest point, fainted like some starved, wounded creature in the forest, overflowing with exhaustion and directionless self-pity. Perhaps he wouldn't have died out there, but the fire, the food, the bed... these things had pulled him out of a deep, dark pit that he hadn't even realised he'd fallen into. He was incredibly grateful for what she'd done for him. He hadn't felt this comfortable or alert in weeks, and, loathe as he was to admit it, it'd been nice to be in the company of another person for a little while, even if they didn't speak the same language.

He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed as she approached him. She had something in her hand - a floury, breaded cake of some kind, wrapped loosely in papery tree bark. She pressed it insistently into his hand, then pointed at the door. Now that she was close, he could see the dark circles below her eyes, and how her gaze was dull with tiredness. And yet, her movements were still deliberate and controlled; he had no doubt that even without sleep, she was not to be trifled with.

"Það er kominn tími fyrir þig að fara."

He knew without understanding that she was telling him to get out. And of course he'd oblige; it was the least he could do. He spoke her word for 'yes', his voice low and soft with the remains of sleep that still clung to him, and reached down to grab his things from the floor. He tucked away the breakfast Faye had given him in the pouch on his belt, and stood to don his armour. He could feel Faye's eyes on his body. He glanced up at her as he fastened the belts of his old, tattered waist guard, and saw her shift awkwardly as their eyes met. He could have sworn her eyes had sparkled with interest, and although her expression shifted to disguise it straight away, Kratos felt desire stir inside him. When was the last time he had so much as touched another person? Been touched? Felt someone's bare skin against his?

He tamped down on those thoughts stubbornly. It wasn't important. He didn't deserve it. The woman was not interested; he was projecting. It was just a symptom of his isolation, he told himself, just his loneliness. It was what he had inflicted upon himself, and it was what he would stick to.

He fastened his shoulder guard, rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. Time to go. Faye had moved away, and was busying herself with something by the fire. He crossed the room and stooped to re-bind his legs with the now-dry cloth he'd left by the fire, then picked up his bundled blades, eyeing Faye as he did so, though she did not move. She almost certainly knew what the folded cloth contained from her reaction last night, when she had kicked them away across the floor. She must have seen them on his back when she found him unconscious in the snow. _She saw your wounds too_ , he thought, cringing again at the fact that he had left himself so open. _Exposed your secrets to a stranger. Pathetic. Weak. Hopeless._

Kratos grumbled to himself. At least when he'd been ready to drop with exhaustion his inner voice hadn't chastised him so incessantly. Now he was rested, the shame and negativity that always followed close behind him poured back in. Still, it spurred him to action. Turning to look back at the figure of Faye kneeling over the hearth, he considered saying something to her before he left. He didn't know what. Perhaps just a farewell.

He remained silent as he reminded himself she didn't understand a word he spoke. It was wasted breath. She wanted him gone, understandably, so he'd just go.

He left the cabin, pushing the stiff door open and stepping outside into the cold, thin air. He paused for a moment, taking in the clearing around him. What now? Where would he go? He had to go back out into that wretched, freezing forest, alone again. Shame sat like a heavy stone in his gut. The first person to treat him well, or at least treat him like a human being, he had alienated with his temper. His heart ached at the thought of leaving behind her company, her warm fire, the compassion in her eyes. She had wanted to teach him her language. She'd shared her food with him. Stayed up all night just so he could rest. And how had he repaid her?

He growled to himself and stepped forward across the fresh powdery snow.

~~~

It had turned into a bright, clear day, the sky a pale blue, the sun a harsh, stinging glare from where it sat low behind the trees. The thing that threw Kratos most about this land was how low the sun stayed in the sky. Its lazy sweep just above the horizon meant he found it very difficult to tell how far the day had progressed. It always seemed to set far too soon. Time felt meaningless. Displaced.

He trudged through the snow, his feet already stinging with wet cold, his arms alight with their ever changing pain. He ground his teeth in irritation. He could endure pain, but the way his cursed wounds seemed to sting, then burn, then prickle, then tear, then jolt - cycling constantly though different sensations and discomforts - he found he could never quite tune it out. It was very hard to focus. And it was _annoying_.

He remembered Faye's concern. Her soft, gentle touch on his wrist and elbow before he'd tugged his arm away. He wished the idea of her bathing his wounds didn’t cause such a flush of disgust through him - with their language barrier, he wouldn’t be able to explain to her what they were anyway, even if she asked. Her touch had just been so caring -

A sudden, white hot dagger of anguish struck his innards as he realised the interaction had reminded him of Lysandra. Of her concern after he’d returned to her, alive but changed. The way she'd gently held his arm to inspect the embedded chains, her eyes full of worry as he'd proudly told her of how he'd been spared. She’d been thankful at first, but -

He stopped in his tracks, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. _Stop. It’s in the past._

Kratos turned his face to the sky. He’d come here to escape, but it seemed he could never forget. As long as he was alive, he had to carry the memories of his old life with him. It was a disservice to his family to forget them entirely, and he couldn’t pick and choose which parts to leave behind. He had to carry it all.

The air was fresh and still around him. The scattered chattering of birds in the trees backed by the gentle rush of wind through the foliage helped to settle his sorrow. He had to carry his memories, but it didn’t mean he had to think of them at every moment. The weather had settled, it seemed. It was still cold, but the sun warmed the air enough that it no longer stung to breathe. He hefted the cloth wrapped blades at his side. It was awkward to carry them this way, and they left him at a disadvantage. Perhaps he could -

He looked to his side to see a large, dead tree, hollow, with a tangle of ivy choking it. Good. Kratos brushed aside the tendrils of ivy, and nestled the blades into the hollow. Nobody would find them here - he was far away from any roadway - and he was certain he could find his way back here. Faye’s clearing was not far behind him. He murmured a curse to himself - he knew that even if he were to lose them, somehow or another they would come back to him. They’d proved it time and time again. It would be no loss to him if he were unable to find his way back here, but he knew fate would ensure that he would. Like the memories of his lost family, the blades would never leave him, but he didn't have to hold them every waking moment.

He carefully took a seat on an old fallen tree nearby, its trunk bare of snow where it was nestled under an evergreen, and pulled the bread Faye had given him from the pouch at his hip. He would rest a moment more, and eat. He had found that there were times when a quiet moment, just some stillness, would let the flames of old grief burn down. He didn’t often allow himself the respite, but something felt different today. Something about the way Faye had treated him had reminded him of his humanity. He pulled his unfocused gaze down and turned the floury lump over in his hands, peeling the papery bark away from it. How inexplicable, that even while banishing him from her home, Faye had thought to give him breakfast with it. He took a bite and chewed on it pensively. It was dense and floury, but not unpleasant. It was energy, and he was grateful for it. He’d need it if he intended to hunt.

~~~

The boar's neck snapped with a crunch under his hands. Kratos huffed angrily, his breath billowing out in front of him. His blood pumped loudly in his ears, his rage filling him with pulsing heat. He growled as he tried to contain it. It was over. The creature under his knees went limp, its last breath leaving it in a high-pitched squeal.

Hunting was difficult without a ranged weapon. He had tracked this damned boar for what felt like miles, and had only managed to catch it after he'd riled it so much it had finally rounded on him in desperation. Hunting with only his hands meant that he had to get close enough to the beast to pummel it into submission. And with a skittish creature like this one, it hadn't been easy. The boar had been elusive and seemingly tireless, but after already committing so much time to it, Kratos had not been ready to give up. It was dead now, finally, but it shouldn't have taken this long. _It would have taken seconds if you'd been using the blades_ , a part of him insisted.

He closed his eyes tight, trying to dampen the hot embers of his frustration. It was done. It didn't matter how difficult it had been. It was over now. He took in another long, deep breath, and felt the gouges in his skin from the tusks of the boar burn and fizz as they healed themselves. He stood up, removing himself from the bristly carcass of the beast. It was large and well-muscled. It would be good for many hearty meals - he knew boar was especially delicious - and its hide would offer valuable warmth. He grunted with effort as he hefted the beast onto his shoulder. It was large and awkward, but it was much easier to transport this way than dragging it through the snow.

He hoped Faye would find it useful.

~~~

Faye dreamt of vengeful gods. The dreams were faint, amorphous things, but she was aware of incredible suffering. Great injustices piled on top of one another. Of course this was the nature of the gods, to wreak havoc, but these faint impressions felt different to the atrocities she'd personally witnessed.

The dream changed then, and she found herself in Tyr's vault, back before Odin had taken him. He was proudly showing her his treasures from distant lands, arranged caringly but haphazardly around the chambers in enormous piles. She found herself in front of some pottery that bore images of the gods of that land, as Tyr had explained to her. She had been here before - this was a memory - but at the time her heart had been bursting with fresh sorrow and desperation, and as such she hadn't been paying much attention. In her dream, however, she found herself reaching for a double-handled vase with an intriguing figure painted in dark pigment, arms spread, head thrown to the sky. It seemed important, but she couldn't seem to focus on it. The image swam in her vision as she squinted -

The dream immediately dissolved as Faye's eyes snapped open. A sound outside her cabin. A heavy _thump_. She stayed still a moment, heart skipping, listening intently. The light that bled through the gaps in the roof was tinged with pink - it seemed she’d slept through the daylight.

She heard the faintest crunch of receding footsteps on snow. Someone was outside.

She jumped up from her bed, axe in hand straight away. She stepped into her boots and pulled open the door to her shack, casting around for the intruder. The clearing was still, the low sun sending bright shafts of orange and pink light between the trees. She blinked away the sleep still hazing her eyes, determined not to be caught off guard.

She spied footprints in the snow - whoever it was had left mere moments ago. She stepped out from under the doorframe, following the line of prints with her gaze, and tensed in surprise at the sight of a dark, heaped shape in the snow close to the side of her cabin. It was the carcass of an enormous wild boar.

She moved closer and prodded at it with the head of her axe. There was no blood, but it was definitely dead. There were no drag marks. It’d been carried. Her blood ran cold as she remembered her dreams. Was this a sick gift from the gods? Were they toying with her? Had they found her? Did they know - ?

She took a deep, steadying breath. Ridiculous. She was still half asleep, and she was jumping to conclusions. If the gods had found her, they would have killed her right away, not threatened her with inexplicable dead creatures. She turned, looking back towards the trees to where the retreating footprints led. She strained her eyes, trying to catch any movement amongst the dark trunks.

 _There_. An unnatural flash of red, just for a moment, moving away into the forest.

_The stranger?_

She thought she'd seen the last of him. He'd left without a word, and despite herself, she'd been rather disappointed.

Was this… a gift?

An entire boar during the winter months was a gift indeed - but an awful lot of work to prepare. He could have stayed to help skin and clean it, at least. She stood at a loss, and let a burgeoning yawn escape her. This man was turning out to be both the bane of her existence and the most exciting, intriguing thing to happen to her in a long time. The flames of her curiosity leapt to life inside her once more.

She turned back to the boar, eyeing it with renewed interest. As it was, she would leave it there for the night; there was no way she was going to deal with this carcass in the dark. Casting a simple ward would keep the scavengers off it until morning. She knelt down beside the head of the beast and lay a hand on its snout, the faint gold light of her magic glowing under her fingers. She murmured the incantation for the ward. _How had it been killed?_ She wondered as the glow faded. There were no wounds anywhere to be seen. If it was diseased it would be of no use to her. She ran a hand absentmindedly along its bristly mane, and paused as she felt the displacement of muscle, the jagged lump that shouldn't be there.

He'd… _broken its neck?_

 _How?_ The stranger may have appeared strong, but to have strength enough to break this enormous beast's bones with his bare hands? And to carry it through the woods? On further inspection Faye could see the boar's tusks were stained with dried blood - she'd assumed from its own mouth, but no. They'd fought. He'd been hurt.

Hooking her axe onto her back, Faye leapt into a swift, quiet run, following the path of footprints towards the trees in the fading light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faye's speech:  
> Góðan daginn: Good morning  
> Ég snerti þá ekki, ókunnugur: I didn't touch them, stranger  
> Það er kominn tími fyrir þig að fara: It's time for you to go
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm not sure about the pacing of this chapter, but we soldier on. :> Hope you enjoyed the angst, I certainly enjoyed writing it.


	4. "Why are you here?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye goes after Kratos in the woods, but night has fallen quickly, leaving the two of them in the dark.

The final streaks of light soon disappeared between the trees, sapping away the last traces of warmth the sun had brought. The steadily cooling air touched Faye's cheeks with its familiar frigid sting as she made her way through the forest after the stranger. He had covered much more ground than she'd expected him to. She was suddenly regretting going after him - he couldn’t have been badly injured if he’d made it this far so quickly. 

But she knew, she _knew_ that she wasn’t going after him just because he’d been hurt. 

She slowed her pace then, stopping by a large, bent tree. What was she _doing?_

After he’d silently left that morning, she’d felt such an overwhelming rush of loneliness and despair that she hadn’t known what to do with herself. It was frustrating, _pathetic_ even. The man was obviously volatile, powerful and dangerous. She had made the sensible decision to banish him, and yet here she was going after him again. How desperate was she for company that she was betraying her better judgement like this? 

She thought of her bed. It had still been warm when she’d finally climbed into it that morning, exhausted. The faint, residual heat of another person’s body, something she hadn’t felt in so long, had left her feeling so safe that she'd fallen asleep almost straight away, a dreamlike impression of someone lying with her in the furs. 

Despite this, her sleep had been fitful. Every sound in the forest would rouse her, every log shifting in the fire. And although her guard was up in case the stranger came back, every time she woke and found herself alone again, her heart would go cold with sorrow.

The call of a tawny owl in the forest nearby pulled her out of her head. It was dark now, and although the moon was up, the thin slice barely shed any light on the forest. She’d been a fool to run after him into the woods at nightfall. Leviathan sat heavy on her back, a comforting presence, at least. She could easily turn back now, she knew these woods like the back of her hand, but there were many things that lurked in the dark that could see much better than she could.

She took the axe in hand and stepped forward into a silent walk, her feet treading slowly, carefully over the frozen ground. Yes, she could go back, but the more she thought about turning away from the stranger, leaving him behind, potentially forever, the more hopeless sorrow seemed to engulf her. It'd been so long. Everybody she had ever cared for was gone, and if she invited people into her life now, she risked making herself known to the gods. The people who lived in the settlements at the edges of the forest were good company when her loneliness drove her to talk to someone, _anyone,_ but they only knew her as a passing storyteller, nothing more. Often she would protect passing travellers or merchants from monsters on the roads, but she would always leave them as soon as they’d thanked her - she couldn't afford to reveal anything about herself to anyone. Odin's spies were everywhere.

And yet she had felt such a kinship with the stranger - visiting from somewhere so far that she didn't have even the slightest inkling as to what language he could be speaking - she felt like she had found something. Something _new._ He was so _different_ \- like nobody she'd come across before, man, giant or god - that his uniqueness felt safe, despite his ferocity. He was no spy of Odin. She knew that, and so did that deep, instinctual magic of hers. 

She thought about the unexpected flash of aggression that had taken hold of him the night before. He had barely been in control of himself. She thought of those cruel blades, his wounded arms; there was something darker at play. Perhaps he was cursed? She couldn't forget the utter, desperate sadness that seemed to pour from him after whatever it was had passed. Their eyes had only met for a moment, but it'd told her so much. 

And now, the boar - a gesture of gratitude that he’d gone far out of his way to express. A shy bloom of warmth filled her at the thought. 

If he really were that strong, perhaps he'd be a valuable ally.

Faye stifled a shiver as a freezing breeze tugged at her in the dark. It told her to expect more snow. Spring wasn’t far off, but the period right before the first buds began to appear always felt coldest and bleakest. She pulled her cloak more closely around her as she walked, alert and listening for any movement in the surrounding woods. The dark shrouded her like a blanket, but she trusted what little information her eyes and ears gave her. Where the snow lay thickly, the stranger’s tracks left deep furrows that were easy to follow, and where it was shallow, his prints were distinct enough to pick up the faint moonlight on their edges. He was easy to track. 

It wasn’t long before she found him. She stopped dead when she saw his broad, pale form, standing out against the dark lines of the trees. He stood with his back to her, the weak moonlight highlighting his head and shoulders. His posture was tense, his shoulders squared as if against a foe. Faye hung back a moment, wondering if he’d perhaps seen something she hadn’t, but he didn’t move. Despite her earlier fond thoughts, she was suddenly filled with dread at the sight of him, here in the dark forest. His size, the way he held himself - that inexplicable _aura,_ it reminded her of the gods who had laid waste to her own realm. She stood frozen, struck dumb by the thought. _Was he a god?_

If he was, he certainly wasn’t like any god she’d ever come across. Cursed, alone, from another land far beyond any of the nine realms… Faye suddenly remembered her dreams. The unfamiliar destruction and chaos she'd had a faint impression of - could it have been connected to the stranger? She recalled again the grief and regret she’d seen in his eyes for that fleeting moment last night - was he like her? His entire life, family, even his home, destroyed? 

But if he were a _god_ \- surely she couldn’t trust him. The only god she’d known not to be monstrously cruel was Tyr, and it seemed he had been an anomaly. She quashed the worry that gripped her insides as she thought about him. She had to focus. 

Faye watched as the stranger flopped onto his knees in the snow, his movements heavy, defeated. She heard him murmur something low and indistinct, his head dipped as if in reverence. Something on the frozen ground before him glowed faintly, perhaps the embers of a fire. Faye skirted him from a distance, staying low and stepping slowly and quietly, as she would when she was hunting, using the trees and undergrowth for cover. She stayed low and still, watching him for some time in the darkness, though he barely moved. He seemed frozen, deep in thought there on his knees. She wondered what he was doing. 

Then - she wondered what _she_ was doing, cowering in the dark, spying on this man from afar. Faye cursed herself for letting his presence intimidate her into hiding this way. What good was it going to do anyone? She had come after him for a reason, and although she hadn’t had the faintest clue how to approach him, she couldn’t shy away like this. She bolstered herself. He'd been receptive, and listened to her commands. He’d left her a gift. Surely he meant her no harm. 

Faye straightened up, taking two deliberate steps forward, purposefully treading on a twig to make sure her movement was audible. The stranger’s head twitched to the side as he heard, and he pulled himself quickly to his feet. 

“Stranger -” Faye found herself saying, her voice loud in the quiet woods. 

The man whipped around to face her, his eyes flashing in the dark. Faye rooted her stance, but the tension seemed to dissolve out of him as he recognised her. He was holding something in his hands, something that glinted dully and slid over itself with quiet metallic sounds - it was hard to make out in the gloom, but it looked to be a length of chain. 

“Faye?” he said, his voice a soft growl. He looked at her quizzically for a moment, then down at his hands. Suddenly his arms jerked back, dropping the chain on the ground as though it’d bitten him. He took a step backwards. 

“Are you alright?” said Faye, slinging her axe onto her back. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She knew he wouldn’t understand, but she hoped her voice conveyed her concern. 

The stranger stood rooted to the spot, his head dipped. His gaze seemed to be fixed on the chains at his feet. Confused, Faye moved closer and leaned in, offering a hand forward to pick up what he’d dropped. 

His hand snapped up and caught her wrist in his grip, and Faye froze, a spike of adrenaline coursing through her. His rough hand felt impossibly hot against her cool skin. 

“Μην τα αγγίζετε -” he said urgently. His grip loosened, his eyes locked with hers, and she nodded, slowly. He let go, and they both straightened up. The stranger gazed down at her. It was difficult to make out his expression in the dark. “Γιατί είσαι εδώ;” he asked, quietly. 

Faye shifted uncomfortably. It really was perplexing not to understand a single word of his speech. She knew all the languages of the realms and a few others besides, but none of them came close to matching the stranger’s words. She hoped she could learn it if he - no. She brushed those thoughts away for now, and focused on the more pressing questions that were springing up in her mind. Why did he have _chains_? What was he doing?

She watched as he stooped down, gathering the clinking metal in his arms and carefully dropping it onto the embers near his feet. There was the hard sound of metal on metal - she realised then that the light she had seen at his feet _wasn’t_ the embers of a dying fire - it was the blades, uncovered and aglow with some sort of fire magic. The stranger, working quickly, his movements hastened by what Faye could only guess was shame, wrapped the blades again in the fabric of his cloak. 

“Come back to my home,” Faye blurted suddenly, surprising herself. The stranger paused midway through tying some cord around the fabric, and stared at her silently. “We can learn each others’ languages,” she continued. “You can help prepare the boar you brought me. We can talk, you can tell me your story - I think we could both use the company, don’t you?” 

He hefted the wrapped blades under his arm, then shrugged pointedly at her, his scowl deepening in frustration. “Δεν σε καταλαβαίνω, γυναίκα,” he grumbled.

“ _Food,”_ she said, recalling the words she’d attempted to teach him yesterday evening. “Drink. Fire. _Rest._ ”

He stared at her, his shoulders slumped with uncertainty. 

“Come, before I change my mind again,” said Faye, gesturing behind her, indicating the way back to her clearing. “You’re injured. You can’t stay out in the snow. I know I sent you away, but perhaps you’re worth a second chance. Maybe we can help each other. I promise I won’t touch your weapons, as long as you don’t use them.”

The man exhaled through his nose in a snort of derision. “Εμπιστεύεστε πολύ εύκολα.” 

Ignoring his reaction, Faye turned to walk away, then looked back, beckoning him. “Well, are you coming?”

He paused a moment, then opened his mouth. “Yes,” he intoned. 

~~~

They walked silently together through the darkness, Kratos staying a good few paces behind the woman. His insides were a tumultuous mess. He hadn’t even realised what he’d been doing until her appearance had pulled him from his numb trance. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling pain jolt up his forearms. The uncomfortable, insistent desire to reattach the chains still sat high in his chest, and the faint silhouette of… _her_ , standing, watching, whispering to him, was still burned into his mind's eye. The darkness had tricked his eyes, but she had felt so real. She always did. It was galling. He felt sick to his stomach. He had thought that without the chains clinging to him he'd be rid of the visions of the gods who bound him. But no, they still mocked him. Even here, even while the chains lay untethered and useless before him. What was the point in fighting it?

Luckily Faye had snapped him out of it in time - stepping as if from nowhere from the darkness to stop him, chasing away his visions. He was grateful. Despite the fact he didn’t understand her words, she had the uncanny ability to ground him, to break through the torturous haze that held him in its grasp. 

Even so - he couldn’t understand why she would trust him enough to seek him out and invite him back to her home. Surely the boar hadn’t been enough. She wasn’t stupid - she obviously knew he was dangerous. And yet here he was following her home again like some lost child. But what other choice did he have? He didn’t know what he was doing here - he’d been travelling aimlessly, pushing further towards the cold purely to punish himself. He knew he _deserved_ to freeze out here alone, but more and more he was realising that he didn’t _want_ to.

He saw Faye turn and look back at him, obviously making sure he was still following her. She held her axe at her side again, and it glinted with icy blue light in the darkness. She seemed so at home here in the woods. Her footsteps were silent, and she walked with purpose, as though she knew every fallen branch, every stone. As she looked back at him, she raised her axe to catch his attention.

“Hæ, ókunnugur?” she called, as though to open a conversation. He recognised the word she seemed to have adopted to address him. He didn’t much like it.

“Kratos,” he corrected. 

She stopped, turning to face him fully. The snow crunched under his feet as he caught up to her. “Kratos?” she said, cocking her head. “Þú heitir Kratos?”

He stood motionless before her in the dark. Hearing it on the lips of another person for the first time in years immediately grated on him, and he suddenly regretted telling her. To his surprise, she gave out a short laugh. 

“ _Kratos_ ,” she said again. “Er það mögulegt að þú sért guð?”

He let out a rumble of frustration. Her language was impenetrable. She spoke it as though singing, and the long, round vowels backed by harsh, halting consonants sounded unlike any language he’d come across before. How could he ever hope to learn it without sharing a common tongue with her? 

“Ég held að þú sért það.” Faye stood before him. Kratos watched as a half-smile flitted across her face in the moonlight, before quickly disappearing. She suddenly looked tired. Sad. She let the head of her axe fall to the ground, her gaze sliding away from him as she gave out a sigh. “Ég hlýt að vera brjálaður… Ég vildi að þú gætir skilið mig.”

Kratos stood still, wondering if the conversation was over, until she finally turned and began to walk again, hefting her axe decisively. He fell into step more closely behind her. He’d be glad to get back to her small cabin, out of this seemingly endless frozen forest. Until she'd taken him in, he had practically forgotten comfort. How nice it felt to be seated on warm, dry furs. To eat food that actually tasted good. To be in the companionable presence of another person. _That_ was something he’d missed most of all. And it was something he hadn’t had for a very, _very_ long time. 

“Faye,” he said, trying to distract himself from the heartache that was beginning to creep back into him like frost. “Why did you come back for me? Did you not banish me from your home?” 

Faye turned her head in acknowledgement at his speech, and paused politely before replying, as though feigning that she had understood. "Við erum næstum þar, Kratos," she said, with some finality. 

"I will not insult your hospitality again," he murmured. 

~~~

When they finally reached Faye’s clearing, the darkness had deepened so much that Kratos didn’t even realise they had arrived. Some thick, low clouds had spread across the sky and covered what little moonlight there had been to see by. He found himself following closely behind Faye in the dark, using the faint blue glow of her axe to guide him. The snow and the uneven forest floor meant that he stumbled frequently, but thankfully he caught his footing enough each time to prevent himself falling straight onto her. 

Faye had slowed her pace considerably, obviously taking her time to navigate through the intense darkness - or perhaps to make sure he could keep up. Kratos was impressed - on black nights like these he would usually stop and rest somewhere until the moon came out or the sun rose. Or, quite often, until his resolve weakened enough that he pulled out his blades and used their fire to light the way. This usually meant creatures masked by darkness would attack him, attracted to the light, and as much as he felt he deserved punishment, fighting back swift creatures that he couldn’t see had quickly lost its charm. 

Kratos let out a sudden breath of surprise as he bumped against the woman in the dark. She’d stopped. Turning his head, he sensed that they were no longer surrounded by trees. He could hear the flow of a nearby stream - they were back in Faye’s clearing. He blanched as he unexpectedly felt her cold hand press against the bare skin of his side - it quickly darted upwards, brushing lightly over his bicep and finding his shoulder, settling there with an apologetic pat. He was glad the darkness obscured him; he wasn’t sure he could have successfully hidden his surprise at being touched in this way. Of course it had been accidental - it was pitch black and she’d meant to find his shoulder to begin with - but much to his chagrin, his pulse still quickened at the contact. She spread her fingers, pushing firmly against him, perhaps a signal to halt and stay still. 

“Ég heyri eitthvað,” she whispered, barely audible. The tension in her voice told him to be on guard. “Bíddu þar.”

Her hand left his shoulder then and she slipped away into the darkness. The blue light of her axe had disappeared, and he was suddenly surrounded by deep, impenetrable blackness. Kratos stood still, listening intently. A biting breath of wind swept past, and he felt the first flakes of a snow shower peppering his skin. The darkness completely swamped his vision. He felt utterly disoriented; he couldn’t even visualise his position in the clearing. Faye’s voice had sounded cautious, on edge; something was wrong. He took a careful step forward, then flinched as he heard a movement some way away in the dark. There was a pulsing flash of gold light followed by a loud, heavy thud, then a shout from Faye - and a _deafening_ roar. There was a creature in the clearing, something big. 

There was a blinding flash of white-blue, and a shockwave of magic light pulsed through the clearing - giving Kratos only an instant to take in the scene before him. There was an enormous, lumbering, semi-humanoid creature, thick with muscle, huge maw agape, looming over a dark shape on the ground fringed with a gold glow - the carcass of the boar, he realised, affected by some magic. He had seen the silhouette of Faye, backlit by the glow, slamming the axe onto the ground powerfully, then spinning it in her hands and darting forward towards the beast.

The darkness had poured back in around him, but he charged forward nonetheless, his eyes fixed on the flash of blue darting back and forth up ahead. His movements became automatic, any conscious thoughts leaving him - and by the time he reached the fray, the blades were unwrapped, the hilts warm in his grip. They glowed ember red in the dark, illuminating just enough for him to make out the limbs of the beast ahead of him. It was swift as well as big. He heard Faye shout out a warning to him, and reflexively he ducked to the side, displaced air whistling above his head as an enormous arm narrowly missed swiping him off his feet. 

Without the chains, he could not send the blades out in front of him as he would normally - he would have to get close. He darted back and forth to avoid the barely visible creature’s thrashing limbs, one eye still on the glowing axe’s movement, until Faye sent another blinding wave of light towards the creature. Kratos squinted through the searing whiteness to absorb as much information as he could. They were fighting on a slight incline, the cabin to his right, the beast in front of him, stumbling back from the pulse of magic. It was about as tall as two men. If he could get close enough he could climb onto its shoulders and drive a blade through its skull - though it would not be an easy feat in the dark. He took note of Faye’s position, her stance wide, axe held in both hands. She did not seem afraid. Her eyes had met his just for a moment before the light faded - they had been wild with passion and determination, the blue light illuminating her strong, wiry form, wielding her weapon with complete mastery. She was… impressive. Beautiful.

His eyes were on her as the darkness rushed in to cover them once more. He heard her call his name - then, an impact - pain - freezing air rushing around him. He felt himself smash against something - all the breath left him as part of the structure came away, wood splintering, then suddenly he was spitting out snow. 

He took a moment to get his bearings, growling in pain and annoyance, and grabbed the blades from where they'd fallen from him, melting a hole in the snow where they lay. He was on his feet immediately, his whole body buzzing with the shock of the impact - and before he could even think, he was running back towards the sound of the creature in the dark. There was another ear-splitting roar, and a yell from Faye. 

Kratos wasted no time in closing the gap the creature had made between them, using his momentum to carry him forwards into a spinning flurry of attacks through the darkness. It wasn't long before he was carving flesh, the blades igniting, their flames hungry. He could see even better now - the beast was roaring with fury and pain, slamming its fists into the ground in an effort to catch him, sending snow and dirt up into the air. Kratos had lost sight of Faye’s axe - everything outside of his bright aura of flame was completely dark - but suddenly he didn't care. The beast was all that mattered, and it had to die. The heat of the blades was searing and pulsing, engulfing his arms in flame. He dodged back from another strike before quickly darting forward again, hooking a blade up and around, sinking it deep into the flesh of the monster's flank. 

He swung himself up and over, scaling the beast's hunched, leathery back as it roared and jerked, grasping and swiping at him with clawed hands. Kratos heard Faye cry out a warning, then growled through clenched teeth as he felt the claws rake at his back. He couldn't feel the pain, all he could feel was the rage, the fire. Hot blood rolled over his sides, onto the hide of the beast below him. 

The creature straightened up, twisting from side to side in an effort to reach him, almost throwing Kratos from its back. It reached backwards with its clawed hands, attempting to strike at him again. He ducked away from one grasping claw only to be faced by another - but then the axe came spinning close by, severing the hand at the wrist. The creature bellowed, throwing its weight forward again. Good.

"Kratos!" Called Faye, her voice hard. He looked to her then, his vision hazed red, and saw her standing below, distinct in the darkness, red and blue light reflecting off her form. She caught the axe as it flew back to her before hefting it back two-handed, ready to strike again - but the creature’s thick arms, one spilling blood from its stump-wrist, slammed to the ground near her. She darted to the side, but she stumbled as the shockwave knocked her off balance. He needed to incapacitate its arms.

Trying not to be flung from the flailing beast, Kratos climbed higher up its back, then raised his blades, arms wide, and brought them both down in a swooping strike, slicing deep into both shoulders of the creature. Immediately the beast gave out another howling bellow and toppled forward, Kratos flattening himself against it to avoid being thrown off. It hit the ground with a heavy thump, jarring him. It was down, but the muscles beneath him tensed as it attempted to rise again. Kratos pushed himself up onto all fours, but before he could make a move, Faye stepped forward, and in one smooth motion, brought the axe down hard, cleaving the thing's skull. Her hoarse, war-like cry was the last thing to reverberate around the clearing. 

The two of them stared at each other over the head of the dead beast, Kratos on his knees on the creature’s back, Faye stooped forward with her hands on the handle of her axe. Kratos suddenly became aware of himself. His body thrummed, alight with heat and energy, his breaths heavy, the flames that'd crept up his arms licking at him hungrily. Faye's expression was unreadable - her brows were low, her mouth open, her breath leaving her in clouds. Kratos blinked away the haze and tried to slow his breaths, willing his body, rigid and tense as iron, to relax. The flames began to die down, just as the glow of Faye's axe faded. They stared at each other speechless as the last light from their weapons dimmed, the darkness rushing in to swallow them completely. 

Kratos heard Faye remove her axe from the creature's skull with a wet _crunch_ , then move away in the dark. He took a long, shuddering breath as the pain of his wounds finally overcame him. His back was alight with a deep, searing pain as though he’d been lashed, his arms burned with unbearable heat, his head pulsed. He’d been stupid; sloppy. The darkness had thrown him off. The _woman_ had thrown him off. He groaned as he felt his skin start to slowly knit itself back together, the pain dissipating, his senses creeping back to him.

He stayed there, kneeling on the hard back of the dead beast in the dark, his heart still pounding in his chest, his breath growling out of him, the blades hot in his grip. He listened for Faye, but could hear nothing, only the sound of blood roaring in his ears. She’d seen him. She’d seen the blades, and she’d seen the fire. He hadn’t even thought - it’d all just _happened_. Every movement, every decision from the instant he’d seen the beast had been made by a part of him that he didn’t have a hold on. He lifted one of the blades free from the beast’s flesh, still glowing faintly underneath the dark gore coating its surface, but stopped as he heard the clink of chains. Quickly, he wiped some of the sticky mess from the metal with his hand. The light was fading still, but the faint red glow illuminated the edges of the chains wound around his forearm. 

“ _No -”_ the word escaped him as an involuntary breath. He raised a hand, touching the metal links to make sure they were really there. They were solid, wound around his arm, over the wrappings at least, but solid nonetheless. Had _he_ done this? When? He hadn’t used the chains, only the blades, they _hadn’t_ been there - surely he would have realised - ?

Kratos shuddered, then pulled himself up, stumbling off of the enormous carcass in the dark. He threw the blades to the ground, pulling the chains loose from one arm, then the other in turn. They coiled to the ground, releasing him without resistance. He was still separate from them. Taking deep breaths, he stepped away, eyes trained on them as the very last light of the blades faded, keeping his distance as though the chains might somehow jump up and strike at him. 

The freezing air drained the remaining heat from his body in the pitch black. He could feel the timid, cold touches of snowflakes on his shoulders, and the rapidly cooling blood dripping from his skin. What was he supposed to do now? Faye had disappeared. He considered calling out to her, but couldn’t bear the thought of how pathetic it would sound. She was probably deep into the forest by now anyway, trying to get as far away from him as she could. He stood rigid in the dark, completely at a loss. 

That creature. Where had it come from? He remembered seeing it attempting to get at the boar when the first flash of Faye’s magic had lit the clearing. Guilt stirred in his gut. The boar carcass had attracted it. He'd only wanted to repay Faye’s kindness, and yet he’d brought her even more trouble. _You dealt with the beast,_ another part of him insisted. _It is_ she _who should be grateful._ Faye had dealt the killing blow, he reminded himself, trying to quieten his angry thoughts. She had severed its hand before it could carve his flesh again. They had brought it down _together_. 

He couldn't have known the boar would attract creatures like _that_ \- he assumed Faye had the ability to deal with any smaller scavengers - but could she have handled the fight alone, had she not brought him back here with her? _If you have scared her off,_ said that vicious part of him, _then the boar is yours. What's left of the_ shelter _is yours. This is good._

He recalled the sensation of splintering wood and broken beams against his back, and his stomach dropped. Her home. How much damage had he done? He groaned to himself. This was _not_ good - the beast, the flames, the anger, the blades - everywhere he went, destruction followed. This meant he’d _never_ be free of his past, he’d never be able to atone -

He blanched as he heard a faint, whispered voice. Under the blanket of the silent dark, he couldn’t tell if it was distant, or inside his own head. 

“ _You really thought you could change?_ ” she said, and her voice set his heart thumping anew.

“ _Stop_.” Kratos pressed his hands into his eyes to block out the visions he knew were coming. His body tensed up, his head swam, his core felt full to the brim with poison. He couldn’t move. 

“ _You know. You know you’ll never be free.”_

“ _Leave_ me,” he snarled. 

“Kratos.”

He flinched as he felt a cool hand touch his elbow. He took his hands from his face and saw Faye, lit by a candle she held before her, its tiny flame flickering against the night. Kratos sagged, disbelief and confusion rushing in to replace his anguish. 

“Þessa leið,” she said gently. 

“You... are still here -?” he let his arm go limp as she gently pulled at him. He followed, pliant to her soft touch, but turned to glance behind him into the dark, expecting to see the ethereal figure of Athena. 

There was only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations of Kratos's speech: 
> 
> Μην τα αγγίζετε -/Min ta angizete = Don't touch them -  
> Γιατί είσαι εδώ;/Gyiati eesai etho = Why are you here?  
> Δεν σε καταλαβαίνω, γυναίκα/Den se katalaveno, yineka = I don't understand you, woman  
> Εμπιστεύεστε πολύ εύκολα/Empisteveste poli efkola = You trust too easily
> 
> Translations of Faye's speech:
> 
> Hæ, ókunnugur? = Hey, stranger?  
> Þú heitir Kratos? = Your name is Kratos?  
> Er það mögulegt að þú sért guð? = Is it possible that you're a god?  
> Ég held að þú sért það = I think you are  
> Ég hlýt að vera brjálaður... Ég vildi að þú gætir skilið mig = I must be insane... I wish you could understand me.  
> Við erum næstum þar, Kratos = We're almost there, Kratos
> 
> Ég heyri eitthvað = I hear something  
> Bíddu þar = Wait there  
> Þessa leið = This way
> 
> Haha, whoo, that was wild! What a fun adventure. FUN  
> See you soon for some less intense stuff (maybe)


	5. "I am fine."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight is over, but it's dark, cold, and there's a hole in Faye's roof.

Faye's body ached at her, her heart still thudding in her chest from the fight, her hand shaking even under the weight of the candle she held aloft. The stranger - Kratos - trudged beside her in the dark, his footsteps heavy. She kept one hand on his arm, no longer pulling, just holding; his skin was alive with heat. The image of _flames_ surging up his arms was seared into her mind - he had almost been too bright to look at. She tried her best to push away the thoughts and images of the fight as they played out again in her mind, but they crowded and clung to her stubbornly. The _violence_ that'd taken hold of the him, his savage, unrestrained movements, so full of incredible energy that it seemed it would spill over and he would burst, like a flaming draugr - and the blades - he'd wielded them effortlessly, as though they were an extension of his own body. They'd spouted flame. His _arms_ had spouted flame. 

And then, when he'd taken the ogre down and she'd dealt the final blow, it had drained out of him again, and she'd seen that same terrible regret begin to dawn on him just as the darkness had swept back over them both. She'd found him again in the dark, looking about ready to shatter into pieces, his hands pressed into his eyes as if to block something out. He'd been trembling, and as he’d lowered his hands at her touch, she’d seen that his eyes were full of terror. Could it have been shock? Her steps quickened as she thought of the damage the ogre had done to him. He seemed to be much hardier than any mortal, but he’d hit her cabin so hard he’d broken beams, and he’d had his back _ripped_ open. Everything else was irrelevant until she could get him to shelter and see to his wounds immediately.

The darkness was still frustratingly dense, but she knew the terrain in her clearing well. She quickly found the door to her shack again, the weak, trembling flame of the candle barely illuminating the dark wood, and pushed against it with her shoulder. She gave out a hiss as her side shot through with pain. During the fight, she had been distracted by the ogre knocking Kratos away and had subsequently been batted aside herself, right before he had come whirling back out of the dark towards the unfortunate creature. She had been thrown back against the woodpile, and was quite sure she'd broken a rib. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now.

The door scraped against debris piled in the entranceway. Luckily the displaced beams hadn’t impeded her entrance. Once inside, she let go of Kratos's arm and shut the door behind them, inwardly cringing at the futility of the movement when there was a gaping hole in the wall above them. Leviathan glowed weakly from the floor where she had discarded it earlier - she had staggered straight in here after the fight, knowing that getting the fire started again was of utmost importance. The weight of the axe had pulled at her damaged rib, and she’d had to discard it and rely on a pathetic little candle for light to retrieve Kratos by. She placed the candle on a shelf by the door and crossed straight to the hearth, where the fire was just starting to catch. As the shy flames began to lick at the pile of kindling she had set up, Faye nudged a couple of small logs into the hearth with her foot, not wishing to bend over and lift them. She shivered, and looked up to see the damage to the wall of the shack. The stranger had clipped the corner, pulling away part of the roof and supporting wall. It was the corner directly over her bed - now a large gaping hole, splintered beams displaced, some missing entirely. A frigid breeze carried in flurries of snowflakes, dusting the furs of her bed and the floor below. 

Faye’s pulse was still thrumming and her body felt empty and sore - all she wanted to do was lie down in bed. But as it was - covered in snow and splintered wood, that part of her tiny shack open to the sky - she wouldn’t be doing that for quite some time. She turned to find the dark shape of the stranger standing beside her, surveying the damage as she was. Even if it hadn't been snowing inside her home, she couldn’t have rested anyway. Kratos was badly wounded, and needed her help.

“Kratos,” she said, her voice escaping her much more softly than she would have liked. “Come, turn your back to the fire so I can see.” She put her hands on either side of his arms and guided him to the other side of the hearth, away from the falling snow. “Sit down. Let me see your wounds.” 

“Τι -;” the single syllable he uttered was tinged with confusion. 

She pushed down on his shoulders and reluctantly, he sat down. He moved without effort - did his wounds really bother him so little? Faye knelt down behind him. The fire had caught nicely in the hearth now, and the orange, flickering light it shed onto them both illuminated the stranger’s wall of a back. Thick, dark blood caked his skin, merging with the wide stripe of his tattoo. But - 

Faye reached forward gently, tracing a hand over his skin, pushing up the strap of his pauldron and wiping away some of the gore. The stranger let out a strange sigh, dipping his head forward. He seemed to tense under her touch. There were no wounds; his skin was intact. Faye jerked her hands away from him in surprise.

“You’re _fine -?_ ” she said, irritation tightening her words. “That didn’t hurt you _at all?_ ”

Kratos shifted, half turning towards her. “Είμαι καλά,” he said, then gestured to the hole in the corner of the cabin. "Η στέγη σας -" 

Faye stood up and stepped away from him, anger and resentment suddenly gushing forth from behind the wall of concern she'd put up after the fight. 

“I can’t believe I was _worried_ about you -” she said through clenched teeth. The buzz of leftover energy from the fight made her hands shake. She felt a great wave of frustration rising up within her, fuelled by that surplus adrenaline. He was _reckless_ , he was _powerful_ and he was seemingly _invulnerable._ And she'd been ready to drop everything to run to his aid. Her chest ached horribly. As it was, she was worse off than him.

Kratos stood, his eyes glinting with reflected firelight. His voice was edged with a growling bite as he spoke. "Ποιο είναι το πρόβλημά σου, γυναίκα;" 

"It was your boar that attracted that ogre, you know," she said, unable to stop herself. "You left it at _nightfall_. You could have stayed to help prepare it - what kind of favour did you think you were doing me -?"

In truth Faye couldn't have planned for an ogre of all things to come past her clearing. Perhaps the stranger had played his part in accidentally luring it, but - her stomach twisted as she realised - the ward she'd placed on the boar had been the reason it had attacked. The magic prevented anything from touching or carrying off the carcass. If she hadn't cast it, the ogre likely would have taken the boar and left. As it was it had been frustrated at the unattainable meat and had lashed out.

"Σε _βοήθησα."_ Kratos spoke loudly, spreading his palms, his brows tilted in annoyance. His belligerence irked her, and she matched his volume.

“I saw you out there. What _was_ that? Those blades -”

Kratos stepped closer to her, and she stared up at him from under her brows. His chest rose and fell, and that unsettling aura that seemed to hang over him felt almost palpable. Faye stood her ground. 

“Θα μπορούσατε να το σκοτώσεις μόνοι σας;” he said, his voice tense, accusing. “Πρέπει να είσαι _ευγνώμων_!”

“You broke a hole in my house and you don’t have a scratch on you! I thought you needed my help but _clearly_ I’m wasting my time -”

“Δεν ξέρω αυτό το μέρος. _Τι θες από μένα;"_

"I must be insane! Why am I even talking to you, we don't so much as understand each other - " Faye stopped dead as sudden clarity washed over her. Their voices were raised, and they were arguing with each other without comprehending a single word of what the other said. The adrenaline from the fight had amplified her anger - only she _wasn’t_ angry. Not really. She was frustrated, sore, tired - maybe Kratos had inadvertently brought the beast to her door, but he had also assisted her in getting rid of it, however unconventionally. 

She bit her lip and snorted. This stranger, this incredibly _odd_ man, had burst into flames and thrown himself at an ogre, broken a hole in her house with his body, and now stood before her as she yelled petty arguments at him. Here he was _joining in._ What was he even saying? Faye began to laugh. It started as a chuckle at first, but she couldn’t stop. Relief flooded through her to replace the anger as it fizzled out. The entire situation was utterly ludicrous.

She sank to her knees, her laughter reverberating around the small, dark space. Kratos stood frozen, staring at her, his eyes wide in confusion, his fists still clenched. She held her side as it twinged, her rib aching at her gasping breaths. 

“This is _ridiculous_ ,” she wheezed, wiping her eyes. 

Kratos growled uncertainly at her from where he stood. Faye laughed into her hand, trying to stifle it.

“Are we even having the same argume - _ah_!” She tensed and clutched at her side as a momentary spasm of agony shot through her. The buzz of the fight had worn off, and her laughter was irritating her damaged rib. At her cry of pain, Kratos appeared to shake off his aggravation and moved towards her, hands held up as if in assent. Faye could still feel the smile on her lips as he knelt down, the fire illuminating his face as he looked over her, his brows raised ever so slightly. 

“Faye -” he murmured, “είσαι τραυματισμένος.” His hands came to hover near her hesitantly. 

“Yes, mm-hm, absolutely,” she chuckled flippantly, feigning comprehension. Kratos stared at her, his expression stony. Something about his concern made her feel quarrelsome. Faye looked to his forearms, the wrappings around them now stained completely red with blood - whether it was his or the ogre’s, she couldn’t tell. A surge of bravery took her then, and she reached out to him in one smooth movement, closing her hand around his wrist and pulling his arm towards her to examine it. 

“What of your arms?” she said, obstinate. “Did they heal too?”

Kratos immediately tensed under her grip. The fabric was damp with blood. His face contorted into an angry mask of pain and disgust, his eyes suddenly alight with unnerving fire - she gave out an involuntary gasp of pain as he wrenched his arm from her grip, tugging her forward. He stood up and moved away abruptly. Faye gave out a grunt of annoyance, her mirth gone, her side throbbing. Kratos stood motionless, his back to her, facing the cloud of snowflakes that were cascading in through the hole in her roof. Perhaps she shouldn’t have tested him, but her frustration at his seemingly miraculous recovery had spurred something ugly and jealous within her, and she’d wanted to make a point. But, she realised with a bloom of guilt, it seemed his arms still pained him. 

She gingerly reached forward and chose a couple of thinner logs from the pile beside the hearth to add to the fire. Her side twinged as she lifted them. A sudden, intense weariness washed over her then; how was she going to fix the hole in her roof when even lifting small pieces of firewood was painful? She didn’t want to deal with it. She didn’t want to deal with the stranger, and whatever was going on with him. She just wanted to rest. 

“Kratos -” she said, her voice betraying her exasperation. “That was foolish of me. I suppose those wounds are special. Are you alright?”

He ignored her. The flames in the hearth had risen further as they caught and now illuminated the interior of the shack, the hole in the cabin wall above them a dark void. Faye shivered. It was going to be difficult to stay warm with a hole in her house, particularly with this wind. She gathered her cloak around her, and reached for more furs that hadn’t yet been snowed on. Her whole body ached, and her mind was numb. She felt as if her foresight had completely left her - gone was that reassuring, warm feeling she felt towards the stranger, gone was the feeling that she was doing the right thing by sheltering him. She felt cold, sore, exhausted and adrift. She lowered herself to the floor gently, trying her best not to disturb her painful side, and curled as close to the hearth as she could without the furs catching fire. Kratos had proved he meant her no harm. She had shouted at him, grabbed his wounded arms and still he hadn’t attacked her. She’d seen what he was capable of, and it was frightening, but she just had to trust he wouldn’t hurt her now. As she closed her eyes, she felt her mind leave her body straight away.

~~~

She dreamt of warmth, and comfort, and love. She dreamt of company, and family. These things haunted her dreams often - images and impressions from her past - but they were always tinged with sadness. She knew they were gone. This time it felt different. It felt nearer, but somehow out of reach, like something she’d caught a glimpse of through thick undergrowth. Something that if she found her way towards it, she could reach - 

Of course she was disturbed and pulled from it before she could. 

She opened her eyes, a full body shiver making her quake, her side complaining. She had been woken by the fire being stoked, two large logs placed heavily on the embers. She curled into herself more, pulling the furs more closely around her body. It was freezing. She squinted at the shape of the stranger, who was settling down on the other side of the hearth. Faye’s breath caught in her throat as she realised he was holding Leviathan. She stayed still, eyes trained on him. She could recall it away from his grip, but there was no way she could wield it with her injury. Even through the adrenaline of the fight, her ribcage had felt as if it were splitting open as she’d dealt the final blow to the ogre. There was no way she could face off against Kratos now - she winced even imagining the weight of the axe hitting her palm. 

She tried to quieten her panic. He was merely holding it, and he hadn’t noticed that she was awake. The fire had burned low - judging by how cold she was, Kratos hadn’t stoked it until now - which meant she had probably slept less than half the night. What had he been doing? She watched as he sat, laying the axe across his knees. He held a rag - perhaps one of the ones she kept by the door for wiping her weapons - and there was a bowl of half-melted snow on the hearth in front of him. He soaked the rag, and with practised hands, began to clean Leviathan’s blade, wiping away the dark viscera that clung to it. Faye watched through sleep blurred eyes. 

As time passed, she began to relax - clearly attacking her was the last thing on Kratos’s mind. He worked steadily, wiping the blade clean before moving on to the handle, working out any dried blood from where the metalwork met the wood. He rinsed the rag and wrung it out, laying it flat on the stone of the hearth to dry. Carefully, he placed the clean axe on the floor beside him, before letting out a deep sigh through his nose and letting his shoulders slump. Faye watched as his eyes swept over the fire, then over towards where she lay. She felt her heart jolt as their eyes met - she had no intention of feigning sleep. His brows twitched momentarily. 

“Faye,” he said, his voice low and rough. 

“Hello,” she replied, quietly, for lack of anything else to say. 

“Κάλυψα την τρύπα στη στέγη σου,” he murmured, and gestured behind him. Faye cast her eyes upwards. She had thought the snow had stopped - but no, the hole in her roof had been covered. It was too dark to see with what - but whatever it was, it had done the trick, and would keep the snow out for the night. 

“Oh, Kratos,” she said, from her bundle on the floor. “How did you - ?” She stopped herself. “ _Thank you."_

Kratos nodded at her, then let his gaze drift back to the fire.

~~~

Even with the hole in the roof temporarily covered, the inside of Faye’s cabin was still freezing cold. And although the falling snow was now being kept out, the wind whistled in underneath whatever material Kratos had used to patch the hole, making the fire dance and crackle. Faye hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Shivers wracked her body and made her side twinge. Her mood was sour. Kratos had finally laid down, pulling one of the hides from the floor to cover himself, his back to her, the fire between them. Faye stared at his dark shape. As she lay there freezing, all she could think about was the intense warmth he exuded. How was it that he could stay so warm while his skin was bared to the elements? Was it his fire magic? When she had first met him he had been near frozen, but her fire had warmed him quicker than she thought possible. If she hadn’t found him, would his flame have gone out? 

She let out a hissing breath of frustration as another violent shiver wracked her. She sat up carefully, groaning against her protesting muscles and rib, and reached towards the log pile. The fire would burn through the available fuel much faster if she fed it more, but she didn’t care. She needed the extra warmth. She pulled at a log, breathing through the pain in her side, preparing to heft it the short distance to the flames, but froze as a large, pale hand appeared beside hers, taking hold of the wood. She hadn’t even noticed the stranger moving closer to assist her - she thought he had been asleep. She shot him a faux-angry look, trying to appear light-hearted, before smiling apologetically. Kratos didn’t meet her eyes as he lifted the firewood into the hearth. Faye sighed. Determined not to appear completely useless, she reached to pick up a slightly thinner piece of firewood, only to find Kratos’s hand closing around that, too. She snorted derisively, and let go, her fingers accidentally brushing the edge of his hand. His skin was as warm as she remembered. He paused.

Tossing the wood onto the fire, Kratos pulled himself up from his half-reclined position. His eyes were suddenly trained on her. She drew back hesitantly as he reached over the woodpile, taking her hand in his, his thumb against her palm, the undersides of his fingers pressing down onto her knuckles. His warmth bled into her skin. She had to dampen her desire to take hold of him and press herself into his body. 

“Είσαι τόσο κρύος,” he said, solemnly, releasing her. 

Faye, speechless, watched him rise and circle the hearth towards her, bringing his hide-blanket with him. Internally, half of her screamed to be careful, not to let this man get too close to her while she was injured - the other half _longed_ for more of his warmth. The fire crackled beside her as it eagerly consumed the new fuel. 

“Stranger,” she said as he came to stand close by. “I do not need to be held and warmed like a child -” 

He grunted, lying down a little way behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, shooting him an incredulous look. He stared at her earnestly. 

Accepting her fate, she laid herself back down. To her relief, Kratos turned his back to her. He pulled the hide over his shoulders and draped it over the both of them, shuffling a little closer - they were not quite touching, but she could feel the heat of his body warming the space underneath the shared covers. 

“Do not push me into the fire,” she said as he moved nearer. 

" _Rest_ ," said Kratos, his accent heavy. Faye smiled to herself. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


The wind had risen through the night, whistling and rattling the beams of the shack. Kratos pulled the skins further up his shoulder carefully, making sure Faye was still covered. She had stopped shivering, her breaths now deep and slow with sleep. 

He lay with his back to her, watching the flickering shadows cast against the cabin wall, his heart skipping in his chest. He took a long, quiet breath in, letting it out slowly, focusing as best he could on stifling the troubling feelings creeping up his spine. Faye’s soft breathing, her presence beside him, the tension on their shared coverings - it was bringing back memories he’d rather forget. It’d been so long since someone had slept beside him, let alone someone who he actually cared anything for.

But did he care for Faye? He barely knew her, they spoke different tongues - and yet he found himself wanting to keep her safe, keep her warm, help her fix her damaged home. Perhaps it wasn't much, but it had been too long since he'd felt any kind of connection with anyone. It had felt at times like he’d never feel fondness again - he wasn’t sure he had it in him. He’d lost a part of himself with Atreus, and lost yet more with Lysandra and Calliope. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to quieten. The more he focused on these thoughts, the more the dark, burning pit of grief and shame in his core began to boil over, threatening to overwhelm him. The walls he’d built inside himself were not always impenetrable, and he worried about things escaping. If they did, it seemed inevitable that they would devour him from the inside out. 

Kratos clenched his fists tight, the sting of his arms grounding him in the present. It was all in the past. He’d made his peace with it, or so he’d told himself, and he’d left it behind. Now wasn’t the time. 

He thought instead of the evening’s fight against the beast. He wasn’t proud of it. Perhaps it had been necessary, and there wasn’t anything to be done now it was over, but he regretted the blades. He wished that Faye hadn't seen him using them. He regretted his sloppiness - now she had seen far more than he had wanted to reveal. His arms still burned uncomfortably, and his wrist felt raw from where Faye had grasped it after their apparent argument. He didn't blame her. His other wounds had healed. She couldn't have known the nature of his scars. It seemed she was hurt too - but she had put his injuries first. He couldn’t remember seeing her being hit - but then he hadn’t been aware of much else except the fire, the rage, the _pleasure_ of the fight. An unfamiliar guilt shifted in his gut like a slumbering serpent. Had it been his fault? Should he have fought more cooperatively? 

No, it had been dark - the beast needed to be dispatched quickly, and they had done so, together. There was nothing to be done now. He would keep her warm tonight, help her fix the damage to her home, and then he would leave. She would be better off without him. 

Faye shifted behind him. The fire had burned down somewhat, but he didn't want to disturb her sleep by feeding it. It still exuded enough heat for now, and he knew their shared warmth would remain. He let out a shaky breath as she pushed back against him, the furs around her pressing against his bare back. His pulse quickened at the contact. _Pathetic._

She was cold. It was for her benefit he was doing this, not his own. If it weren't for the dark and the snow, he would be out there fixing her roof further than the patch job he had done - for now, all he could do was offer what warmth he had. He leaned his weight back ever so slightly, pressing more closely against her. He stifled the overwhelming urge to turn over and pull her into him, curl his body around hers. He wanted nothing more than to feel her reassuring, solid form against his own, to bury his face in her long, wild hair. To press his hips into the back of hers and perhaps snake a hand under the furs to find her bare skin - he felt a hot surge of desire wash through him at the thought, but he swallowed it back. No. That would be for his own benefit. He couldn't just take what he wanted; she had given him so much already. He closed his eyes tight. He could feel the movement of her breathing against his back - it was comforting. It was enough, he told himself. It was enough that someone wished to be this close to him again, even if it was just for his warmth. After everything, if this was all, then it was enough.

He lay there stiffly, listening to Faye’s breathing under the crackle of the fire. It took a frustratingly long time for sleep to find him, and when it did, visions of blood-soaked steel cutting through bodies plagued his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kratos's speech: 
> 
> Τι -;/Ti = what?  
> Είμαι καλά/Eemai kala = I am fine  
> Η στέγη σας -/Ee steghi sas = Your roof -  
> Ποιο είναι το πρόβλημά σου, γυναίκα;/Poio eenai to provlima sou, yineka; = What is your problem, woman?  
> Σε βοήθησα/Se Voithisa = I helped you  
> Θα μπορούσατε να το σκοτώσεις μόνοι σας;/Tha borousate na to skotoseis moni sas; = Could you have killed it by yourself?  
> Πρέπει να είσαι ευγνώμων!/Prepei na eesai evgnomon! = You should be grateful!  
> Δεν ξέρω αυτό το μέρος. Τι θες από μένα;/Den xero afto to meros. Ti thes apo mena; = I don't know this place. What do you want from me?  
> είσαι τραυματισμένος/eesai travmatismenos = You are injured
> 
> Κάλυψα την τρύπα στη στέγη σου/Kalypsa tin tripa sti stegi sou = I covered the hole in your roof
> 
> Είσαι τόσο κρύος/Eesai toso krios = You are so cold
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! This one took a bit longer than anticipated - the scene after this one was taking a very long time to figure out for some reason, and was messing with the pacing, so I've decided to post this as is for now. It DOES mean I have quite a bit more already written though so it shouldn't take as long for the next update :)


	6. "Help?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's dawn - Faye awakens with a stranger beside her, and lots of work to do.

Faye woke as the first birds began to sing, welcoming the long awaited dawn light. Kratos stirred beside her, and just for a moment, she felt so completely at ease, at  _ home _ , that she let out a gentle, contented breath, ready to turn and kiss him good morning -

Her eyes flicked open.  _ What?  _ She didn't even  _ know _ him - the events of the previous night came flooding back to her then. Her side ached, her home was damaged, there was a dead ogre outside, and a  _ stranger _ lying next to her. Faye took a moment to adjust to the unpleasant realisation - the reassurance and security she'd woken up to fell away from her like sand through her fingers. The floor underneath her was cold and hard, the fire had burned down to embers and the air that touched her exposed face was frigid. Thankfully the warm mass of the stranger behind her filled their shared cocoon with heat. It seemed in the night that they had backed up against each other, and even wrapped in furs she could feel his warmth. She was grateful. He felt so reassuringly solid, and despite the fact that he was a stranger to her, it was a comfort to wake up to  _ someone _ .

She propped herself up on her elbows, wincing at the pain in her side. The furs gathered around her waist, the cold air rushing in - she paused, waiting to see if Kratos roused. He did not. The dawn light was still weak; it leaked in through the smoke vent and spilled in around the edges of the hole in the wall above them. She squinted up at the strange material that mostly covered the hole - Kratos had patched it in the night - but with what? As her eyes adjusted, she frowned. She could see scaly, horned hide, stained dark with blood. It was ogre skin. He had skinned the beast in the dark during a snowstorm and fixed her roof, all while she slept. She sat forward, careful not to disturb the covers draped over Kratos’s body. He was still on his side asleep, arms tucked protectively against his chest, his breathing slow and steady. 

“Ridiculous man,” Faye murmured to him, a smile tugging at her lips.

The fire needed to be stoked and she knew it was going to be painful to do so, so she settled on gazing at the sleeping stranger for a little longer. He was so striking; the red stripe that fell across his eye was bright against the unnatural pallor of his skin, his brows remained low over his eyes, his face tense, troubled. She felt something bloom inside her at the sight of him, that same safe, calm feeling that had washed over her the first night when he had dozed at her fireside. She wondered idly if it was her foresight reassuring her that he was trustworthy. He’d certainly proved it to be so, despite his startling ferocity and stubbornness. 

Faye cradled her side as it throbbed dully at her. Perhaps she could ask him to stay for a time. To help her with chores, to fix the roof, get rid of the ogre carcass, help her skin and butcher that gods-forsaken boar. She could offer him food and shelter in exchange. Company. She was intrigued to learn his strange language, and teach him hers. Every part of her ached for companionship. She reached out a hand, intending to stroke the red and white skin of his shoulder where the tattoo curled over the dense muscles of his upper arm - but decided against it, and pulled back. She didn’t want to rouse him with her cold touch - he had been awake for much longer than she had last night. He took in a long, slow breath in his sleep, the cords of muscle in his arm shifting under his skin as he stirred. He was strong. Alluringly so. 

She turned away, scoffing at herself under her breath. She carefully extracted her legs from the furs and rose to her feet, keeping her breathing as shallow as she could - every breath she took pulled at her sore rib. The pain was infuriating. She circled the hearth and crouched down beside Leviathan where it lay on the floor, freshly cleaned by Kratos. She cast an appreciative glance at it before stirring up the embers of the fire with the battered old knife she kept by the hearth. After gingerly placing a few smaller pieces of firewood on the smouldering fire, she sat back, taking a moment to breathe through the pain. She wondered how long she'd have to suffer through this. She could only hope it'd heal before spring arrived - there was much to do, and she'd suffer later in the year if she couldn't turn the soil and sow seeds in her garden. 

The faint dawn light was steadily brightening the cabin. Faye reached down and carefully lifted her tunic to examine her injured side - her skin was blemished with deep, angry bruises, a large portion of her side tender and swollen. She pressed on it experimentally, hissing as it stung at her touch. She had definitely broken at least one rib. She prayed she would be less sore once the bruising had gone down. 

There was a sound then, from the other side of the hearth - it drew her attention away from her injury, over to the shape of the sleeping stranger. He had turned onto his back, his face twisted with anguish. His jaw was clenched, brows tilted unhappily. The corner of his mouth twitched, lips raising into a silent snarl, his eyes moving back and forth under his eyelids. Faye pulled her clothes back down over her torso and watched as Kratos’s body began to twitch and tremor in small, shuddering jolts. His breaths were coming shallow and uneven, puffing in semi-transparent clouds into the freezing air. 

Faye watched, frozen, caught in indecision. She had had her own share of nightmares, and often wished she had someone to pull her out of them - but the intensity of Kratos’s violence from the night before still stood starkly in her mind’s eye. She reminded herself that she didn’t know him; he might lash out if she startled him awake. She bit her lip and watched unhappily as he groaned and twitched, beads of sweat beginning to gather on his brow. 

“Kratos,” she said experimentally, her voice still husky with sleep. "It's alright -” 

He gave out a single, rough growl then, his body shuddering with one last convulsion that forced him over onto his side, and in a startlingly quick movement he was up onto his knees, his eyes snapping open, wild, panicked. He trembled, gasping for breath as though he’d just emerged from being held underwater. 

“Kratos,” she said again, gently. His head snapped up to meet her gaze. His eyes were wide with horror, glazed with incomprehension. She gave him a weak smile. “It was just a dream. You’re safe.” 

He stood abruptly, stumbling backwards and putting out an arm to steady himself against the far wall. He released a tremoring breath. His eyes darted around the cabin, towards the door, to the fire, back to Faye, then away again. She watched him cautiously as his breathing slowed, then felt a great swell of pity as his expression shifted to one of utter defeat - he dropped his gaze to the floor and turned away, hiding his face. Faye, in an effort to give him some space, rose to her feet and crossed to the back of the small hut, where her pantry was. 

"Let's have some  _ food _ ," she said, keeping her tone light and making sure to emphasise the last word, hoping he recognised it. She made sure to keep her back to him as she checked her shelves. There wasn’t a huge amount of food left - some harsh weather over the darkest nights of winter had depleted her stores somewhat. If only there had been more time to restock. There was the remaining plucked goose, but she felt too sore and tired to prepare it for their breakfast. She was sure she had some dried fish and bread rusk tucked away somewhere on the middle shelves - something she didn't have to reach for, or spend time preparing. 

She took a little longer than necessary, idling in the corner until she heard the sound of more wood being added to the fire behind her. She turned, cradling the wrapped bread and fish as best she could without pulling at her injury, and made her way back to the hearth where the stranger now sat, stirring the embers. He didn't look up as she settled nearby.

She set down the packages of bread and fish, keeping her movements slow and controlled. Two stacked bowls lay near her on the hearth. She picked them up and offered them to Kratos. He turned his head only partially toward her, his eyes glazed, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

“Would you collect some snow? _ ”  _

He didn’t react. 

“ _ Snow.” _ She gestured towards the door, then pressed the bowls into his hands. He blinked, seemingly snapping out of whatever reverie he was lost in, then nodded and rose to his feet, trudging towards the door. A blast of cold air and snow powder swirled into the room as he left, closing the door behind him. He was only gone a moment, but it gave Faye time enough to spread out their meagre breakfast and cut the fish into strips. When he returned with two bowls full of fresh, powdery snow, she took one from him and set it beside her, placing the other by the fire to melt.

"Here," she said, gesturing to the modest offerings she had laid out. "Eat."

He looked down at the dry rusks and strips of fish, an expression of distaste passing briefly over his features. She didn't blame him - dried fish and even drier bread wasn't exactly the most palatable thing to be faced with first thing in the morning, but she didn't feel up to preparing anything more. Even so, he took a piece of each and bit into them without question. They ate in silence. 

Faye found herself gazing into the fire, a frown tugging at her lips, her brows knitting. She felt forlorn all of a sudden. The stranger had closed up again, the atmosphere as fraught and uncomfortable as it has been on their very first meeting. Her side grew more painful even as she sat there, chewing on the tough, salty fish. It was galling how a single momentary mistake in battle could leave such lasting problems. Still, there was nothing she could do about that now - though she  _ could  _ do something about the swelling.

Kratos watched, bemused, as Faye shouldered off her cloak and lifted her tunic, a piece of fish held between her teeth. Her ribs protested as she pulled it over her head, and the cool air on her bare skin raised goosebumps across her back. Luckily she had wrapped her chest the day before - not that she particularly cared whether Kratos saw her breasts - it was just that men always seemed to become stupid at the sight of them. As it was, he averted his gaze anyway. 

She reached for the nearby bowl of snow and began packing the freezing stuff against her aching side, tucking it under her chest wrap to hold it in place. She hissed through her teeth at the sting of cold, but knew it would lessen the swelling and hopefully speed the healing. She draped her cloak over her bare shoulders in an effort to warm  _ some  _ part of her, and glanced over at Kratos, who still sat rigid nearby, his gaze fixed firmly on his hands in his lap. He had finished the pieces of food he had taken but did not reach for more, perhaps reluctant to move towards her while she was in a state of undress.

“Take more food.” she said, trying to keep her words plain. 

He looked up, eyes lingering on her bare stomach momentarily. To her surprise, his gaze kindled a low blaze of warmth inside her. 

“ _ More.”  _ She nudged the food towards him. He grunted and accepted some more of the salted fish. 

She could feel the snow melting against her side, the cold sting of it numbing her skin. Kratos ate slowly, gazing into the fire. He still seemed distracted. Faye couldn’t help but wonder what he had been dreaming about. She wished she could ask - whatever it was clearly still stuck to him. He seemed so unhappy, so tired. She wanted to help him. 

“Kratos, listen,” she said, munching on some rusk. “I want you to stay here.”

He glanced towards her but stayed focused on his food, his lack of attention clearly indicating that he didn’t understand.

“The  _ roof _ -” she continued, gesturing upwards. His gaze followed. “The body of the  _ ogre  _ outside -” she brought the heels of her hands together, fingers splayed as though to mimic jaws, then pointed to the door. “The _ firewood _ -” she mimicked chopping wood in as small a movement as the pain in her side would allow. “I need your help, until I can heal.” She pointed to her injury. “Will you help me?”

He stared at her, seemingly absorbing what she had said, but remained silent. 

She pointed to herself again, then to him. “ _ I, Faye,  _ need  _ you,  _ Kratos, to help me.”

“To help me?” he mimicked uncertainly. 

“Yes,  _ help. _ Um.” She gestured to the roof. “You helped me with  _ that. _ You helped me with the -” she made the shape of the ogre jaws with her hands again, then mimed them closing and falling down dead. “I’m asking for  _ more. _ You understood  _ more _ , right? More help. Please.”

“Help. Βοήθεια…?” 

“ _Voi-theia?_ Is that your word for it?” 

Kratos straightened up in response to her attempt at his language, his expression stern. 

Faye cocked her head at him, confused. “No? No help?”

He gave out a deep, exasperated sigh, and put a hand to his face. Faye chuckled hopelessly. She felt the same way. She longed to understand him, and to have him understand her. She had no idea if she could rely on him, but the connection she felt told her he  _ would _ stay. She could only hope it wasn’t one-sided.

Kratos got to his feet then, and moved across the cabin. He stooped to pick up Leviathan and held it aloft for a moment. This time Faye did not flinch. Something about the way he moved told her that he meant no harm.

“Πρέπει να χρησιμοποιήσω το τσεκούρι σας,” he said, flicking it casually in his grip so it spun. 

“Uh -” 

He took the axe in both hands and swung it gently, in the same motion as cutting down a tree, then pointed to the hole in the roof.

“Oh. You need to use it? To help?”

“Yes.” 

“Yes, then.” Faye rose to her feet and stepped towards him. She laid her hand on the haft of the axe. “It's an  _ axe.  _ My axe. _ ” _

Kratos repeated the word, and Faye nodded. 

“You can use it for a while, but I  _ will _ want it back.” She flashed him a smirk, and he responded with a tired glare. She chuckled. “I know you don’t understand me, but if you want to learn, you’ll need to get used to hearing the words.” 

He gave out a growling sigh and moved away. Faye returned to the fire to remove the melting snow packed against her side. The sting of the cold was becoming unbearable, and it had been there long enough, she supposed. Kratos had stooped to wrap his calves, presumably to go out and begin work. She was determined to accompany him, even if she couldn’t be of much help, so she donned her clothes once again and followed him out of the cabin.

They both paused outside the door. The dead ogre lay in a bloodied, disgusting heap nearby, surrounded by disturbed snow, dirt and broken foliage. Crows pecked and harried at the exposed flesh. Faye noted the large square of hide that was missing from the thing’s back - where Kratos had skinned it in the night. Blood stained the snow around it. Faye released a shallow sigh. It was likely to attract more predators if they didn’t move it soon, and the smell was already terrible, despite the cold temperature. 

Kratos strode over to the carcass. The black fluttering shapes of crows scattered into the air around him, their hoarse cries filling the clearing. He looked back to her for a moment, seemingly hesitating, before stooping to lift the thick arm of the beast, sprawled limp and lifeless across the snow. 

“What are you doing -?” Faye began, before realisation dawned. Kratos braced his shoulder underneath the scaly arm, and, stooped over, his face twisted in disgust at the smell, he began to haul the huge carcass along behind him. Faye watched, struck. She had known he was strong, and she had seen how he fought, but still she couldn’t help the shock that spread through her as she watched him drag the beast away. The snow and the dirt churned under the dead thing’s weight, leaving a dark, muddy scar of displaced snow in the clearing. Kratos was pulling it along behind him as easily as he might pull the carcass of a small deer. Faye leaned back against the wall of her cabin, watching him. She knew she should be worried - strength such as his could attract attention from the gods - but it was all she could do to stifle her grin. She had thought they’d be faced with days of dismantling the disgusting, stinking corpse, hauling the foul meat further into the woods piece by piece, all the time looking out for predators. But no, it was gone in an instant. One less problem to deal with. 

Kratos disappeared into the trees, the carcass leaving a wake of bloodied snow and mud behind it. He was gone for some time. Faye stood stiffly in the morning light, trying in vain to think of a task she could do in his absence that wouldn’t aggravate her injury. The clearing was a mess. Broken foliage was scattered, the ground was disrupted and ruined in places and some grisly chunks of gore still remained. There was nothing to be done, not without injuring herself further. Her gaze swept over the collapsed wood pile, the debris that’d been knocked away from her damaged shack, the dark shape of the half-frozen boar, dusted with new snowfall. She sighed - if it wasn’t completely frozen, perhaps she could make a start on skinning it. 

As she began to walk towards it, her foot made contact with something solid under the fresh layer of snow. She stopped and looked down to see a dull glint of steel. She angled her foot and levered it up out of the snow, shedding powder - it was one of Kratos’s blades, crusted with ice. She realised then that he had been without them overnight; when she had found him in the dark after the fight he had been empty handed. She cast a cautious glance in the direction he had disappeared, then slowly sank into a crouch. The way he had fought with them - unrestrained and uncannily proficient - had been startling. She remembered the way his anger had flared when she had merely touched them on the first night they met - and yet now he’d left them, abandoned in the snow. She reached out a hand to touch the freezing surface, her mind adrift with curiosity. The metal was dark and rough with age. He hadn’t cared for it. It wasn’t through ignorance - she had watched him clean and care for  _ her _ weapon diligently and respectfully. Why would he be so fiercely protective and so neglectful of them all at once? It didn’t make sense. 

Carefully, she brushed aside more snow to find the other weapon. Her hand grazed something else then, but it was not a blade. The links of a chain. As she pulled at it, the other shortsword emerged from the powder; they were connected. She had seen him holding the chains in the woods - but at the time hadn’t realised they were a part of his weapons. She wrapped her hand around the hilt to pull it closer - 

Her breath left her as her vision darkened. She knew what this was, though it had been years since she’d experienced it. Panic rose in her chest, an automatic response, but she closed her eyes, breathing deeply and trying her best to stifle the fear as she lost all sensation, her body seemingly falling away. Unfamiliar images and sensations surrounded her. A rush of dry heat, the clash of weapons, the screaming of dying men, the stench of burning flesh. Light and shadow danced, forming shapes like those she would see against her closed eyelids.

Faye knew she was not seeing through her own eyes, but perceiving images within herself, within Kratos’s blades, within the world tree’s branches, where they intertwined with everything, in every realm. The images that came to her were indistinct, dark, a deep red, as though stained by blood. A figure, on a hillside; a man. Around him crowded dark shapes, and they swam in her vision, blurry and indistinct. It was an army, a battle. Men fell, the air stank of death, and the sky was dark with sorrow. Her heart began to hammer in her chest as foreign emotions invaded her - fear, grief, anger, frustration, desperation. It was unbearable. Her soul buzzed with it, her mind was aflame. The figure before her on the hillside had fallen, defeated. 

The vision shifted like smoke around her, the images moving almost too quickly to perceive. A flash of light from the sky blinded her then, but with it came an intense rush of euphoria. There was pain there too, intense, searing, though it was hard to pay it any mind through the exhilaration. As the light faded, she could see that the figure was on his feet. Her body felt as though it were aflame, heat and energy pulsing through her, particularly her arms - she looked up to see the figure swing something - a rope? A  _ chain? _

She could not see outside of the hazy, blood-red aura that surrounded the lone figure, but she knew that men were dying. They were felled effortlessly, like wheat cut by a scythe. And it was  _ good _ . Now her heart hammered not with fear or desperate regret, but with triumph. Exhilaration. Pride. It ached deeply, in a strange, frightening way, but that was easy to ignore. Every swing of the chain brought a new intoxicating wave of satisfaction. Vindication. Glory. The blades were powerful. They were unstoppable. And it felt  _ incredible _ . 

Though Faye knew she was sharing the figure -  _ Kratos’s _ \- feelings, she couldn’t help but mourn for something, something within herself - within  _ him _ \- that had disappeared along with that bright light. Something had been taken, in exchange for those cursed weapons. It was impossible to tell what; the violence filled every space, left no room for thought, covered all emotion. Nothing else mattered. The stench of blood and death was everywhere.

Just as the intensity and violence began to completely overwhelm her, it jarred to a stop. Her vision cleared, just enough to see the darkened figure of Kratos, on his knees, head bowed. An unbearable emptiness opened up within her, then. She felt utterly numb. He held something in his arms, something small, bloodied. A body. A  _ child _ . 

And then, as suddenly as it had come upon her, the vision cleared. Reunited with her body, she felt impossibly heavy, kneeling there in the snow, the cold rushing back in. The blades lay in the snow before her, their cruel, curving edges stark against the white. She held a length of chain in her hand still, icy cold and limp against her palm. Her side began its dull aching again, the pain and fire of the vision dissipating, blown away as though by the cold breeze, the sensations of her own body returning to her. She shuddered. 

The crunch of footsteps at the edge of the clearing made her look up. Kratos trudged towards her, a large freshly felled log tucked under his arm, Leviathan held loosely at his other side. To her horror she found herself dumb, paralysed where she was, crouched over the blades in the snow. Her throat had closed up, her muscles tight, her blood running cold. He approached, his brows knit in confusion at her position, stooping there in the middle of the clearing. He bent to drop the large log he carried, then as he moved closer, his posture stiffened at the sight of the blades. 

“Ξεφύγετε από αυτούς,” he said, commanding, his voice hard.

“Kratos -” Faye’s voice came out small, broken. Her heart still pounded, the intense sensations of the vision still clinging to her. The chain was heavy in her hand. No more words came. 

“ _ Ξεφύγετε από αυτούς! _ ” His shout startled her, and she dropped the chain. It sank deep into the loose snow, where it began to steam. Kratos advanced on her, his eyes suddenly alight with that frightening fire, his fists clenched, body tense. 

Her body finally obeying her, Faye moved away from the blades and pulled herself to her feet, willing her movements to stay slow and controlled. She would not allow him to intimidate her. She thought that he would grab his weapons - but he did not. He stopped in his tracks as she rose to her feet, his eyes trained on her. They smouldered with rage. 

He was cursed, bound to these blades by some force of the gods. She could not expect him to see sense as long as she remained near them. She had felt for herself how precious they were to him. How much a part of him. Detestable, but a part of him nonetheless. Her eyes drifted to the stained bandages wrapped around his forearms. The chains had bound the blades to him, to his flesh. How many times had he pulled them away from himself, only to reattach them? She balled her fists. She could still feel the pain.  _ His _ pain. 

“Δεν πρέπει να τα αγγίξετε - είναι  _ δικό μου _ \- δεν καταλαβαίνετε -”

She stared back at him, paying attention to the fine lines on his face, the beginnings of the beard that darkened his pale jaw. Although it’d been indistinct, somehow she knew that her vision had shown her events from many years ago. He had lived with this for a long time. He had been alone for a long time. 

But so had she. He was not unique in his suffering. Frustration choked her. 

“ _ Γυναίκα, μιλήσετε! _ Τι κάνετε με τις λεπίδες μου;” his voice was raised angrily. Though he held himself back, she could tell his rage was close to boiling over.  _ Again. _ She did not believe she could fight back this time, but she was not interested in cowering. Cursed or not, he was a fool if he thought she wanted to take the terrible things for herself. Here he stood holding  _ her _ weapon, and still he flared the moment she so much as touched his? Anger caught in her stomach like a fire. He was cursed, not acting rationally - the vision had let her share his pain, see what the blades really were - but she did not ask for any of it. She held her own suffering, and did not want more. He was inexplicable, infuriating, and his temper was unstable. She did not have the strength for this. 

“You’re a  _ hypocrite _ ,” she spat. “You left them out here! You’re  _ holding  _ my axe!” 

Kratos grimaced, then in one powerful movement, drove Leviathan deep into the log beside him with a resounding  _ crack _ . The movement was savage, driven by anger. Faye’s stomach lurched. He growled like an animal and approached the blades.

“Fix the damage you’ve done here  _ brute _ ,” she snarled at him, her patience at its end. “If you’re going to keep doing this then you can take your blades and  _ fuck off.  _ I don’t need this.” 

Faye turned on her heel and walked back to the shack, her gut churning with rage, her throat tight. She heard him call after her, his voice still rough with anger. She ignored it, her rib twinging as she pushed the cabin door closed behind her. Inside, she leaned back on it and closed her eyes tight, willing her nerves to calm. She still felt the dizzying emotions of the vision clouding her mind. Regret began to seep in as she regained her composure. She shouldn’t have lost control of herself as he had. What if he had attacked her? She was injured. He could have killed her effortlessly, just like the countless others she’d seen in her vision.

She was a fool. She had been so desperate for company that she’d ignored her instincts, welcomed him back into her home even after he’d revealed his temper to her. Had she really thought that it wouldn’t happen again? It had just been her foresight - vague and unhelpful as it was being - that kept convincing her over and over that he was safe. But not just that, she realised, with a bitter twist in her gut. It'd been her desire to be close to someone else. Her loneliness. She had wanted to help him. But who would help  _ her?  _ She rubbed her burning eyes, clearing away the beginnings of tears. What if his anger spilled over? Would he slice her to ribbons with those blades? Set fire to her cabin and destroy everything? All that time protecting herself, sacrificing her well-being because she was one of the last few of her kind, wasted. She shuddered as she remembered how Kratos had thrown himself so readily at the ogre. How he had cut down countless men in her vision. How efficiently savage his movements were. 

She hung her head, and stepped away from the door. It was pointless worrying about it. Both times he’d lost his temper, she had stood up to him, and it’d given him pause. He was broken and volatile, but he hadn’t hurt her.  _ The bare minimum you could expect from an ally,  _ she thought bitterly, as she passed the hearth on the way to her pantry. If she was going to skulk around indoors, she might as well do something useful. 

As she settled down at her work table with the goose carcass and knife, the sound of an axe cleaving wood filtered in from outside. 

~~~ 

The day wore on and the light gradually changed, growing honeyed as the sun made its low, lazy arc across the sky. The light in the cabin was dim now, the fire taking over once more as the only source of illumination. Faye had prepared the goose, filleted the meat and cooked up or jarred most of it for the days ahead. She had left a broth with the feet, neck and bones simmering on embers for the day, and now her home was filled with the familiar warm, heavy scent of cooking poultry. Her work done, she sat against the wall, a roll of furs at her back. Her rib ached, but she at least felt some satisfaction from a productive day filled with menial tasks. 

She had spent much of her time pondering her vision. It had shown her a glimpse of Kratos’s past; his pain, his  _ violence _ . He had revelled in it, and the blades had amplified his hunger. It was frightening to think of - but it seemed he was attempting to distance himself from it.  _ Attempting _ . She thought again of the dead child. She had wondered, again and again, who she was. Was she _ his?  _ How had she died? Faye knew how it felt to lose family, friends, a home, but she could not imagine the pain of losing a child. She sniffed, and picked up a small stone tracked in from outside, and flicked it towards the hearth. She would not dwell on it. She had told herself she would not take on his suffering, and she would stick to it.

Kratos had stayed outside, working tirelessly throughout the day. From what she had heard she deduced he was harvesting fresh wood, cutting it into lengths, and removing more debris from the clearing. She wondered if he had understood the meaning of her words from earlier.  _ Take your blades and fuck off. _ She regretted it. All she wanted was to talk to him. To explain that she honestly did want his company and assistance, but would not tolerate his anger. 

As if summoned by her thoughts, Kratos pushed open the door to her shack. He ducked inside cautiously, then glanced towards her, Leviathan held before him. Faye met his gaze, careful to keep her expression neutral. Kratos looked away quickly. He placed the axe slowly and deliberately by the door, then turned to leave. 

“Kratos,” Faye said, gently. 

He stopped. 

“Come. Eat.” She gestured towards the broth bubbling on the hearth. He glanced at it, then back to her. His eyes shone earnestly, questioning. He did not seem to have the blades with him. 

“θέλετε να μείνω;” he asked, his voice low.

Faye answered him with another gesture towards the food, trying to stay as aloof as possible. She knew he must be hungry. While she had eaten earlier, he had remained outside all day. He grunted and turned to reach for something behind him. Faye watched as he pulled in two large joints of meat - the hind legs of the boar, skinned and roughly cut from the carcass. She sighed, unable to keep an exasperated smile from her lips, and pointed towards her pantry. He nodded once, crossed the shack and hung the two joints from the meathooks that previously held the geese. The fire crackled, softly. Now that he was here, the quiet in her home seemed so much deeper. She huffed, awkwardly, then got to her feet. 

“Come on then. Let’s have some food.” 

She settled by the fire and began to ladle the broth into bowls, making sure to divide the pieces of flaky, tender meat evenly between them. Kratos sat nearby. For the most part he kept his gaze low, purposely avoiding eye-contact, but Faye did not miss how he repeatedly shot fleeting glances in her direction. Again, they ate in silence as the last light outside faded completely. Darkness filled every corner like liquid. The bright ring of warmth and light that the fire cast reminded Faye of the aura of flame that had surrounded Kratos in her vision. Looking at him now, sitting stooped by the hearth, he seemed a different man. Though she had seen flames erupt from him during the fight with the ogre, he did not hold the same, frenetic wrath as the figure from the vision. He seemed drained. He was strong, no doubt, and still held a lot of rage, but something was lost. His drive, perhaps. His energy. She could empathise with that, certainly. 

“Your bandages are disgusting,” she said, placing her empty bowl back down on the hearth. He glanced up at her from under his brows. She ran her hands over her own forearms to demonstrate her meaning. “You have to change them. Is that ogre blood? You’ll end up dead if you don’t clean them.”

Kratos held his arms out before him and looked down at them as if for the first time. The strips of cloth were stained deep red, and where they weren’t stiff and hard with dried viscera, they glistened wetly. 

“Do you always take such poor care of yourself? How you aren’t dead already is beyond me.”

Kratos grunted dismissively and shifted where he sat. Faye scoffed and shuffled across the floor to reach for her mending basket. She was sure she had some spare fabric stowed away somewhere. Kratos watched as she rummaged, finally pulling out several strips of an old tunic she had shredded on brambles last summer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, shimmying closer to him. “Re-bind your arms, and we can wash these foul things. I will look away if you do not wish me to see.” 

Kratos accepted the fabric she pressed into his hands, casting her an apprehensive look. Faye blew the hair from her face in an exaggerated sigh, and mimed unwinding invisible bandages from her own arm. 

“Take them  _ off. _ They need to be washed. I will look away.” She deliberately turned her back to him, and pointed to one of the basins of water she had left by the fire to warm. She dearly hoped he understood. Sure enough, she saw him reach forward and pull the basin towards himself, back out of her line of sight. 

She sat still and waited as long as her patience allowed her, listening intently. The murmur of the fire covered most quiet sounds, but then came the distinct  _ splash  _ of water. Good. Her ribs ached at her as she sat forward, cupping her face in her hands.

“Τελείωσα,” he said softly, after a time. 

“Are you finished?”

An affirmative grunt. Faye turned. His dirty bandages lay in a disgusting red heap beside him, his arms wrapped in the clean fabric, damp against the freshly cleaned wounds.

“Good.” Faye pointed to the blood-stained cloth. “I will wash these.” 

Kratos eyed her with that same blank, frustrated expression that told her he didn’t understand. Faye smiled gently, then clasped her hands together to form the ogre jaws, as she had done that morning. She mimed blood spurting dramatically from them with one hand - then rubbed her forearm, as though smearing it upon herself. She smiled at him, then lolled her head to the side, letting her tongue hang from her mouth, feigning death. Kratos let out a breath from his nose - though it was not of derision. Faye raised her head, alive again, and chuckled. She reached for the bloody cloth. 

“I’ll _ wash  _ these _ , _ ” she said, dunking them into the worryingly ruddy water of the basin. “Later, we can wash  _ those _ ,” she pointed to the fresh dressings on his arm, which, she noted, were already beginning to stain here and there with spots of blood. “And we’ll change them again. We need to keep them clean. Otherwise you’ll  _ die.  _ Get it?” She tilted her head to the side, posing again as a corpse. 

Kratos nodded once, his eyes sparkling with something she had not seen before. “Ξέρω,” he said, his tone surprisingly warm. “Είσαι γελοίος.” 

Faye shot him a smirk, then settled near him to wash the bandages. “And if you die, then who’ll fix my roof?” She plunged her hands into the basin, rubbing the fabric against itself to loosen the blood and dirt. The water was the colour and temperature of blood, her hands stained red under the surface. “Only you aren’t going to die, are you? Not from dirty wounds; you’re a god. But… I suppose you still feel pain. These hurt you so much. I felt it.” 

She looked up to him, and he stared back, stoic, unmoving.

"Kratos -" she gripped the bandages tight between her fingers under the water. "Did- did you lose a child?”

The silence hung thick and heavy. She knew he didn't understand, and was unsure why she had even asked. Some water slopped over the side of the basin as she began to rub the fabric a little too vigorously.

“Faye -” Kratos said after a time, so low she almost didn’t hear it. 

She looked up at him.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, his expression earnest for a moment, before his brows lowered again, and his mouth closed. He sighed through his nose.

Faye waited, but he did not speak further. “It’s late,” she murmured, pushing away the basin. Her half-hearted washing had achieved very little. “I’ll let these soak overnight.”

Faye got to her feet, wiping her hands on her tunic, then gathered the furs she had bedded in the previous night. Her chest ached terribly - she felt surprisingly worn out after a day spent solely indoors, though she knew her body needed rest to heal. The hole in the roof was still only covered with stretched ogre skin that would likely soon rot away - she hoped that Kratos would not take many more days to replace the beams. While the wind had dropped from last night, the darkness brought its usual biting, bone-cold chill.

Faye wrapped the furs around herself and curled close to the fire once again. Kratos stood to remove his armour once more, and came to kneel down near her. 

“Χρειάζεστε ξανά ζεστασιά;” he said quietly. A question. 

There was something so endearing about the hesitance in his tone, the slowness of his movements, that Faye gave out a soft, yielding sigh. She knew what he was asking, and she appreciated him seeking permission, but his anger from earlier still left a sour taste in her mouth. Did she want to curl up against this man again, knowing his temper, his seemingly bloodsoaked past? 

“ _ Yes, _ ” she said, before even finishing her thoughts. “Come. Lay down.” 

He had not harmed her. And, despite her misgivings, she longed to feel another body near hers again. She had spent much of that evening stifling it, but she ached to touch him, embrace him, even just sit close enough to feel him beside her. She missed contact, contact of any kind. She was tired, and cold, and he seemed repentant. He was  _ asking _ her if she wanted him near her again. He knew he had made a mistake. Whether or not she forgave him, she could not deny that she wanted him close. She wanted to wake up beside someone again. 

He settled in behind her once more, and immediately she pushed against the wall of his back. She heard him take in a short, barely audible breath, and allowed herself a little smirk. He didn’t seem so intimidating now. With the heat of the fire before her, Kratos's warmth at her back and a stomach full of hearty soup, sleep did not take long to find her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kratos's speech:
> 
> Βοήθεια/Voitheia = help  
> Πρέπει να χρησιμοποιήσω το τσεκούρι σας/Prepei na chrisimopiiso to tsekouri sas = I need to use your axe  
> Ξεφύγετε από αυτούς/Xefigyete apo aftous = get away from them  
> Δεν πρέπει να τα αγγίξετε - είναι δικό μου - δεν καταλαβαίνετε/Den prepei na ta angizete - einai diko mou - den katalavainete = You must not touch them - they are mine - you do not understand -  
> Γυναίκα, μιλήσετε! Τι κάνετε με τις λεπίδες μου;/Yineka, milisete! Ti kanete me tis lepithes mou? = Woman, speak! What are you doing with my blades?
> 
> θέλετε να μείνω;/Thelete na meeno; = You want me to stay?   
> Τελείωσα/Teleeosa = I am finished  
> Ξέρω/Xero = I know  
> Είσαι γελοίος/Eisai yeleeos = You are ridiculous  
> Χρειάζεστε ξανά ζεστασιά;/Chreaszeste xana zestasia? = Do you need warmth again?
> 
> Hey thanks again for reading! Things have been kinda tough my end, so I had to drop things for a little while there, but thanks for sticking around! Hope you're all doing okay in this uhhh Time we're living in


End file.
